


Who Killed Jack Spicer?

by rosieblue



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Biracial Omi, Black Raimundo, Detective Chase Young, Gen, True Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 86,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosieblue/pseuds/rosieblue
Summary: 20 years later, Chase Young returns home to the one thing that made him leave in the first place. One kid’s murder at an abandoned temple. As he tries to solve the case, Chase discovers that four teenagers in particular know more than they’re letting on.
Relationships: Master Monk Guan/Chase Young (Xiaolin Showdown), Raimundo Pedrosa/Kimiko Tohomiko, mentioned Ashley | Katnappé/Shadow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Murder in a Small Town

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a totally self-indulgent idea after a couple of true crime films? Yes. Is this totally weird but also kind of awesome? Also yes. Will this be 8 chapters or 16? Who knows.
> 
> PS: Some descriptions of violence.

When he saw Dashi again in his dreams last night, Chase Young wasn’t as caught off-guard. He wasn’t even startled this time. Instead all he felt was the same tiresome hopelessness he’d felt the first two times.

In these dreams, Chase was as he was now: in his late 30’s, with his long hair tied in a wind-blown ponytail. And when Huang Dashi arrived at the edge of the lone hill, he was the same as he’d been the last time Chase saw him. Shaved head, big crocodile smile, dressed in _shaolin_ robes like he was just out of practice. Still one day shy of eighteen.

In these dreams, Chase was always a step or two late in reaching his old friend before the latter faded away and the former woke up. The last thing Chase always heard Dashi say before he’d wake up was the same every time. ‘ _You changed, Chase_ ’.

Now as he stood in the middle of the abandoned temple’s courtyard, Chase Young would have traded that bad dream for the nightmare he was currently seeing. Hell, he’d take being publicly humiliated in front of the entire force in Hong Kong again than being in this temple right now.

Quietly, the detective reviewed everything that happened that day to lead him to this, judging that maybe there was something that warranted this kind of karma. This was a horrifying thing to witness. No, not only horrifying—this was just _gruesome_.

Expertly moving around the scene, Chase tried to mentally map out what most likely happened. Not that it was hard to gauge out.

The body was still tied to the long wooden post, arms and legs akimbo. Everything from the blood splatter to the deep, long gash in his neck to the broken goggles lying three feet away from the body to the slashes on the dead boy’s arms, legs, and neck loudly screamed murder.

And though he’d seen some awful things in his life, Chase could barely look at that sight. It was eerily familiar. Too familiar, he had to force himself to blink that resemblance away.

“You, in the brown jacket”, Chase said to one of the investigators. “I want a full report about the victim at my desk tomorrow morning.”

“But that’s not my job—“, the investigator began before catching the detective’s glare. “Okay, I’ll, okay, first thing in the morning, Detective.”

It was a good thing he didn’t argue, Chase thought. He truly wasn’t in the mood for any backtalk, mostly because they made his recent migraines worse than they already were. And he didn’t need any more of what was on his plate.

It was bad enough he had to leave the unit and Hong Kong behind to start back at another unit in his old hometown in Henan. He was nearly at the bottom of the totem-pole, thankfully saved by old Fung Wen putting a good word in.

Sighing, Chase took one final glance at the scene before leaving, acting as if he’s got important research to do and hoping no one finds out it was actually quite the opposite.

Truth be told, he just wanted to be out of that cursed temple and away from all the blood, away from the stained white robes. It was an eerie coincidence, similar enough to shock him to stillness, yet different enough it might have only been a coincidence. Neither option meant that Chase couldn’t take a moment to himself.

Chase turned around, taking the street he was now in. Apparently, he needed more than a moment because his legs had brought him to the only place he’d kept running to whenever he was distressed when he was younger.

It was strange how it was entirely unchanged, he thought. The quaint suburban street with rows of traditional housing, where the only things that changed were the extra streetlights and the owners of the San Xian noodle shop.

_I can’t be here_ , Chase thought the minute he sniffed what smelled like Guan’s mother’s _congee_. He shouldn’t have been there. Not yet. He was still unprepared to meet him. He might never be ready enough for that.

So, sighing, Chase Young turned on his heels and walked away.

* * *

It seemed like fate, or whatever else was out there, was more than ready to spit in Chase’s face. Or else, why was he at the high school Guan was teaching at, exactly twenty-seven hours later?

Then again, if he was being fair, this _was_ the bigger high school in town and this was where Jack Spicer went before his unfortunate end, so it all made sense. Unfortunately, it was the only thing that made sense about the victim’s file.

The file, as Chase discovered earlier today, was, more or less, stereotypically “ _rich_ _American_ _expat_ ”.

The victim came from an Old Money family. They were suspected of many shady business dealing but so far nothing was proven and it was none of Chase’s concerns. The family had moved around a lot, until about six years ago when they’d set roots in a hidden Henan town, but the parents always traveled and the victim was, more or less, raised by a series of maids and nannies.

All of that made sense, Chase supposed, but how did a kid like that end up ritualistically murdered in an abandoned temple?

“What was Jack Spicer like as a student, Principal Cho?”, Chase asked, after he took the first sip of his tea. Waiting for the answer, he repeated the mantra in his head— _rich kid with lots of free time, no parents around, and bad friends_.

He’d been shaping that theory ever since he’d first heard he had a case with a murdered teenager in Balenciaga shoes. Sure, that theory evaporated the minute he stepped foot into the scene, but it flimsily returned when he began walking away from Guan’s house the other night.

It was the one theory that almost made sense. Especially since this murder had nothing but the location in common with the only other murder that happened in this town.

“ _Murdered_?”, Principal Cho repeated, still in a daze and unaware he was asked a question. Apparently, he was the only one who hadn't seen the press conference. “Jack Spicer? Who would murder Jack?”

Chase tried to look less impatient than he was. “That’s what we’re trying to find out, which is why I’m asking how Jack was in school?”

“Yes, of course”, Cho said, bowing his head as tried to focus. “He, Jack was a good student. Top third of his class, has a— _had_ a bright future. He was aiming for MIT, the last time we spoke.”

“And did you two speak a lot?”, the detective asked, taking out a small notepad.

“Maybe slightly more times than what’s normal for a principal and a student”, the principal said, shrugging. “I talk to a good portion of my students, one on one. We don’t have a guidance counselor here, as I'm sure you remember.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. Twenty years later and no one replaced Mr. Fung. “And what did Jack need guidance for?”

“Oh well, you know”, Cho said, sighing as he recounted. “He was always pulling antics. A noodle-robot coup at the cafeteria, a blender turned into a robot at the teachers’ room. And there was all the bullying, of course.”

“Bullying? What do you mean, Jack was a bully?”

“Sometimes. Recently, though, he was more on the receiving side.”

“Well”, Chase began, quickly taking notes. “Who were his bullies?”

“I can’t point fingers at anyone”, Cho defensively said. “Jack had many enemies, as they say.”

“Wait, enemies?”

“Not enemies, no— _rivals_. I’m sorry”, the principal backtracked only to get an inquisitive look. “They’re teenagers in high school, okay? As regrettable as it is, bullying still happens but that doesn’t mean any of these kids is a murderer. Surely, I don't have to explain any of this to _you_ , Mr. Young.”

Chase shook his head once, biting back his retort. “I never said you have a murderer on your hands.”

“Well, I don’t”, Cho said, fumbling a little at first. “More questions?”

“Yes”, the detective said. “Who did Jack mainly interact with? Friends and…rivals.”

* * *

Currently making himself comfortable at the empty school cafeteria, Chase used the opportune break for a well-deserved smoke break. The conversation with Principal Cho was long and tense, but the detective got what he came for in the end. A list of seven names and school files for six. Not his ideal choice for a light read but it would have to make do, for now.

Clay W. Bailey, Hui Omi, Ashley Gatz, Alisha Zhang, Raimundo Araujo Pedrosa, Li Xiaoming, and Tohomiko Kimiko—seven names Chase had been studying for the better part of fifteen minutes, trying out every scenario.

Knowing he couldn’t just take the students out of class for a surprise interrogation, Chase crossed that option out. There was a press conference just yesterday about Jack Spicer’s murder so singling out any particular student might look too much like a pointed finger.

‘ _They’re always quick to point the finger at us_ ’, he remembered his friend Wuya once saying him, angry and spiteful. ‘ _It’s always us, isn’t it?_ ’

_The troublemakers_ , Chase silently thought, the voice in his consciousness taking one the acidic tone Wuya used when she added that final phrase, usually after a long pause. He’d never admitted it to her, but he always knew she was right about that phrase, her favorite phrase.

Wuya wasn’t much older but she’d always felt like the big sister Chase never had. She insisted on leaving Hong Kong and transferring to the same Henan orphanage he was sent to for bad behavior. She insisted on taking him in when she finally got emancipated.

And when the cops came, intent that Chase had something to do with Dashi’s sudden disappearance, Wuya fought them tooth and nail, insisting that they were preying on an innocent kid. Even when Chase was neither one of those words anymore.

But he couldn’t let himself go there, not yet, so Chase put out his cigarette and almost went back to the Alisha Zhang’s file before he felt eyes on him. He looked up and immediately wished he didn’t.

“Good God”, Guan said, surprised though his face was still. “Chase Young. It really _is_ you.”

“Yes”, Chase said, getting up and extending his hand. He knew he looked as awkward as he felt but staying seated would have made things worse. “Long time no see.”

Guan nodded and took the seat in front of his old friend, uninvited. The familiar easiness almost made Chase smile.

“I see a badge”, the now-bald man said, nodding to the item Chase left on top of the other files. “You’re the detective on Jack’s case, aren’t you?”

The detective nodded. “I am. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“I wish you didn’t say that”, Guan began, sighing. “But it is. Terrible thing, horrible—just _horrible_. I saw the press conference today and I still can’t believe it happened _again_.”

“I know”, Chase said. “If I’m being honest, I thought I could pass out from the sight. And after all this time in Hong Kong, this is _not_ a good sign.”

A pause. “I spoke to Cho, by the way. Really wish I hadn’t but I did. He’s still the same asshole he was when we were in school. Barely told me anything and kept whining about my hair.”

“Tell me about it”, Guan said, scoffing. “You’ll only see him today, right? I have to deal with that man every day.”

Pausing to take a drink from his mug, Guan noticed Chase’s faux-confused look. “I teach history here.”

“No way”, Chase said, though he already knew this because an online stalking binge he'd had when he first returned to town. Still, this opportunity was way too good to pass. “ _You_ teach, Jeong Guan? You, at the school you said you wouldn’t go back to if your eyes bled?”

Annoyed, Guan shrugged. “People change—You changed, so did I. Everyone does.”

“Everyone does”, Chase repeated, trying to keep his tone measured. If he were twenty years younger, maybe he could have easily told Guan about his recurrent dreams. “I don’t want to sound…rude, but I have to get to my work.”

“Sure, no offense taken”, Guan said, stillness creeping into his face again. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Pausing to gather his things as he got up, the teacher gave the detective a final look before adding, “You know, Chase, the next time you’re in the neighborhood, you can just knock. The house is empty now, so it’s just me.”

Another pause. “I make _congee_ every now and then, you know. It’s my mother’s recipe, so I know you’ll love it.”

“Yes”, Chase said, trying difficultly to swallow. So much for his light-footedness then. “Okay, I’ll do that. It was nice seeing you.”

The teacher walked away with a curt nod, finally allowing Chase to take a minute to exhale. This actually happened; he saw Guan again. And instead of saying something, _anything_ , Chase froze and settled for small talk.

Cursing himself, the detective sighed again and attempted to refocus on his work until a girl’s loud giggle startled him.

“I _love_ seeing teachers interact outside the classroom”, the girl with the cat-ears headband said. “It’s like the greatest segment of performance art ever. They try so hard to be normal.”

Pausing to give him a confident smile. “Ashley Gatz. And I’m insulted by the way, it’s been like an hour and you haven’t even tried to read my file.”

“I was getting around to it”, Chase said, amusedly. “Anything interesting I should know about?”

Ashley shrugged. “Not really, no. They never put anything worthwhile in these files. It’s all about exceptional grades and behavioral issues.”

She paused. “Jack had a lot of both by the way. You’re working on Jack’s case, aren’t you?”

“Why are you asking if you heard everything?”

“Just being polite, detective. I would have known even if I wasn’t eavesdropping, though. You’ve got the four weirdos’ files.”

“The four weirdos?”, Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is your file one of them?”

Ashley scoffed. “Oh God, _no_! I may be a future cat lady in the making but even I am not _that_ weird. I’m talking about Clay, Omi, Tohomiko, and Raimundo.”

“Why would you single those four out, Miss Gatz?”, Chase asked, resisting the urge to take out his notepad. “Do you think they know something that can help us?”

“Yes”, the girl said. “Nothing shady happens in this town without them knowing about it. Even if they pretend they don’t know shit.”

When Chase said nothing, only settling to nod, Ashley added as she got off her chair. “If you want to know too, I suggest you come to Katatonia café after school.”

“And if I do go, will I know anything about Jack Spicer?”

“Only everything. Like I said, everything shady that happens in this town always leads back to them.”

* * *

Though he’d spent a considerable amount of time considering his options, by the end of the day, Chase discovered that Ashley Gatz might actually his only chance at knowing anything there was to know about Jack Spicer.

If he was being honest, he hadn’t even considered the girl’s words at first. Ashley seemed like a girl who was way too involved in a vendetta against the four students she mentioned but as he read through the files, Chase found many counts of these four students and Jack being asked to stay after school for many detentions in their middle-school years with no explanation noted.

That didn’t exactly surprise Chase. Ashley was right, schools never put anything worthwhile in their students’ files. A fact Chase had known ever since he’d his school records and saw nothing interesting.

Anything he wanted to find, like after-school fights or drug-use or party incidents, would only be found in the high school gossip usually gate-kept by the popular circles. And as it turned out, Ashley Gatz was one popular girl.

When he finally made it to Café Katatonia after a quick shower and change of clothes at home, Chase discovered that his high school guide was also unspeakably weird. The café she picked was small and quiet with a lovely pastel theme, that was true, but every surface he could see was covered with pictures and drawings of cats.

“Katatonia”, Chase said, taking a seat and holding back a scoff at seeing the girl herself sitting with a cat in her lap. “What an interesting choice.”

Ashley sighed. “I know, I know. I have a thing for cats, sue me. Let’s eat first, they have a really great seafood selection.”

“You can talk while you eat”, the detective allowed, considering ordering a cup of tea himself. “I’m in a bit of a rush. I have to run by the morgue.”

“I thought autopsy reports took, like, a month to get”, the girl with cat-ears said. “They say that on every true crime documentary.”

“That’s fully detailed autopsies. Preliminary results take much less time.”

“Ah, okay. Well, don’t worry, I’m in a hurry too.”

A pause. “Let’s start at the very beginning. So, Jack moved here around six years ago and his parents bought the house next to mine, which was how we became friends actually. After that summer, we started Year Six and that’s…that’s when everything began.”

Even though he’d had his phone recorder on, Chase couldn’t help but jot down the important notes while the girl spoke. The beginning, according to Ashley, was innocent enough.

Although Jack’s parents had requested that Jack be put in Ashley’s class, the classroom was at full capacity so Jack was put in Classroom B, where he promptly met Clay Bailey, who volunteered to show Jack around since he himself was the new kid a year ago.

“My guess?”, Ashley said, deadly-serious. “Clay’s parents probably told him it was either military school or staying at his aunt’s place in China. That kid is too quiet and he’s _definitely_ hiding something.”

Going back to her story, Ashley said that Jack and Clay became good friends who shared an interest in Batman comic-books. They were the type of kids who could have spent hours talking about nothing else at school and continued their childish conversations over the phone at home.

“They went _everywhere_ together”, Ashley said, smiling a little bit. “Like, it was super annoying but also kind of cutesy in a childish way. And then the others joined the group.”

Smiling as well at the girl’s description of the two boys’ childhoods, Chase nodded. “The others as in Raimundo, Omi, and Kimiko?”

Nodding, the girl took a second before speaking again. “Tohomiko and Omi actually transferred from the small school when their family moved closer to the center of the town. Her uncle got a promotion.”

“So Omi and Kimiko are cousins?”, the detective asked, writing down a note.

“Step-cousins”, Ashley corrected. “She has a distant uncle who married Omi’s mom. Everyone else in her family is back in Japan.”

“That’s intriguing”, Chase asked. “Why is she living here then?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “ _Puh_ -lease, it’s super predictable. She was a middle-school arsonist. Her father sent her here so she could learn to be thankful for what she has in the city. Lesson _not_ learned, if you ask me.”

“I take it you don’t like her very much”, the detective asked.

“Yes, I hate her”, Ashley said, scrunching her face like this was obvious information. “She talks big game about how the gay community should stand with each other and then she goes and uses Shadow to make her ex jealous.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “And Shadow is..?”

“Alisha Zhang”, Ashley explained. “My girlfriend, you have her file. Anyhoo, so Tohomiko and Omi start at our school and they keep their distance at first, which we all get, you know. I think that for that entire first term, Tohomiko was friends with, like, two Japanese expats.”

The girl paused to smile. “Omi was all over the place, the little munchkin. He was a very precocious kid,, very annoying too.”

“So Jack, Clay, Kimiko, and Omi”, Chase asked, recounting the story so far in his head. “How did they all become friends?”

Ashley shrugged, like it was fairly obvious. “Raimundo started going to our school in the second term.”

She paused. “Don’t get me wrong, we were _all_ trying to be friends with him. Like, everyone always tries to befriend the cool foreign kid but he was the cool foreign kid _and_ he was part of a circus. We were all curious.”

Another pause. “But he wasn’t the friendliest. Like, not at first. I mean, he’d look some people in the eye and tell them off, no reason at all. Like, I _saw_ that. For some reason, God knows why, he tolerated Omi’s presence. And then Tohomiko’s. And then Jack and Clay started hanging out with them after Omi pantsed Jack—”

“I’m sorry”, Chase said, looking up from his notepad. He cannot have heard this right. “He pantsed Jack?”

“Yeah, I know, _long_ story”, Ashley said, nodding earnestly. “Anyhoo, that’s how the weirdos got together.

“Were they Jack’s only friends?”, the detective asked. “Other than you, of course.”

The girl considered it. “Yes, actually. Other than me and Shadow, Jack didn’t really hang out with anyone except them until the group broke apart when we started Year Nine.”

“Can you tell me why they stopped being friends then?”, Chase asked, his instincts tingling. There was something there and he knew it. “How were the group dynamics? Any obvious leader-follower dynamic? Pleasers, someone doing too hard to fit in?”

“Duh”, Ashley said. “You know how I said that the weirdos got together because of the little circus freak? It kinda remained that way for a long time. Like, Raimundo was the Queen Bee, Omi didn’t care too much because he didn’t hang out a lot, but Clay and Jack played along. Tohomiko did too but she tried to usurp the status quo a few times.”

A pause. “She doesn’t like to play second fiddle to anyone.”

“I see”, Chase said, smiling a little. All that kept coming to him right now were memories of a dark-skinned Macanese girl with dyed red hair and a permanent fuck-the-system scowl. “But if she didn’t like being second best, why would she play along at all?”

Ashley scoffed. “ _Duh_ , she was pretending to be above it all. Also, she like-liked Raimundo then.”

“A recipe for disaster”, Chase said, recalling some unfortunate high school incidents. “What was the big thing that broke the group? You said they stopped hanging out in Year Nine.”

“Clay got a really bad ulcer in freshman year one day”, the girl said. “He was hospitalized and when he was released, he just _stopped_ hanging out with the others.”

She paused. “You want my guess? Clay was on his way to an eating disorder, which isn’t that far-fetched. Being friends with Raimundo means you have to put up with passive-aggressive ridicule. And Tohomiko was kind of perpetually fed up with Clay anyways, so that wasn’t a good mix.”

“I see. Explosive pair.”

“You have no idea”, Ashley said, rolling her eyes. “You should have been there for Tohomiko and Raimundo’s breakup, talk about _nuclear_!”

“I take it you’ve seen the breakup then”, Chase guessed. “That was the second part of the group breaking apart, yes?”

“Yes”, Ashley said, eyes widening. “And we all saw that breakup. Like, oh my _God_ , they broke up right in the middle of the cafeteria. _He_ said she was trying to be the pimp her father never got to be and _she_ said—well, she called him a whore.”

Pausing, the girl took a bite of her long-forgotten smoked salmon. “Very hard to forget.”

“Yes”, Chase said, raising an eyebrow. High school certainly changed since he graduated. “Very intense.”

“I know, right?”, Ashley said, raising an eyebrow, fully rambling now. “I told you she used my girlfriend to make an ex jealous, right? It was him; he’s the ex. They still like each other, like, it’s the school’s biggest will-they-won’t-they since Xiaoyu and Kun.”

Chase waved it off. “Let’s circle back to our story, Ashley. What about Jack and Omi? How did they fall out of touch with the group?”

“Omi drifted, made friends his age”, Ashley said, playful smile fading. “And Jack—I honestly don’t know. A while after Clay’s ulcer, Jack just stopped hanging out with all of them.”

“So he drifted too?”, Chase asked. “Found other friends?”

She nodded “Yeah, he used to hang out with me and Shadow until last year. But my _God_ , he was always bitter about those weirdos. He literally never stopped talking about them—like, if you’d randomly went up to Jack and asked him what any of them was doing right now, he’d tell you because he’d _know_.”

She paused. “It was an obsession, really.”

“You said he used to hang out with you and Alisha until last year. What happened after that?”

“I don’t know. He started devoting himself to his schoolwork, I guess. Every time I called, he was busy.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “Was he busy for everyone or just you?”

“I thought he was busy for everyone”, the girl said, frowning. “But he wasn’t, clearly. A few weeks ago, I went to Ms. Wong’s ice-cream parlor and I saw him hanging out with the weirdos. It looked all wrong, though.”

Chase furrowed his eyebrows. “How so?”

“Jack, he looked like he hadn’t slept in forever”, Ashley said, voice completely somber. “He was skinnier, paler than usual, and his hair was his natural red, not the dyed shade he liked. And if you know how much Jack loved his hair dye, well, you’d know _something_ was up.”

“Did Jack appear to be in distress?”, Chase asked, going full-detective mode. “Did he seem anxious? Worried, scared?”

Ashley nodded twice. “Yes. I couldn’t eavesdrop but he looked scared as shit and I was worried. Jack had been very jumpy recently. Always mumbling to himself, twitching and jumping like he was hiding from someone.”

She paused, pursing her lips. “His birthday was a month ago, you know, so I tried to surprise him. I got him a cake after school and Shadow and I waited for him at his house and when he saw us, he was so surprised I actually thought he was going into cardiac arrest!”

Another pause. “He wouldn’t speak to me afterwards. Kept avoiding me. I think that was the last time we spoke before…you know, before he was killed.”

“I’m sorry, Ashley”, Chase said, sincerely. What he would give to not know exactly how the girl felt. “You did nothing wrong, you didn’t know what was haunting Jack.”

“I could have helped him”, Ashley said, expression betraying her face to show pure guilt. “I could have done something instead of just ignoring him back and thinking he was being a prick.”

The detective gave her a firm look. “You _are_ helping right now. You’re helping me get a picture of how Jack was before he died, which can help us find out what happened to him.”

He paused. “I have one more question for you, Ashley. Why do you think Jack went to his middle school friends instead of you when he was that much distressed? You said it yourself, they weren’t that close anymore and you were the one he spent more time with.”

“You, you really want my guess?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve helped me out so far.”

Ashley took a deep breath. “Jack had a natural talent for finding out things, like long-kept secrets and gossip, things like that. And my guess is Jack discovered something those four weirdos didn’t want getting out.”

“So they killed him?”, Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. It seemed far-fetched that four teenagers, the youngest of whom was only a ninth-grader, would commit a crime like that.

“I wouldn’t put it past them”, Ashley said, bitterly. “I told you twice already. Those four are always around when bad things happen here.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “What kind of bad stuff? Drugs, possibly?”

“I don’t know about drugs”, she said. “But I know that in Year Six, they were hanging out in the factory when that soot storm happened and everyone starting going nuts. And I know they were the ones who found that homeless woman that runaway tiger mutilated by the river.”

“That’s rather morbid, Ashley”, Chase said, quickly writing down the incidents to research later. “But so far, all I’m getting is coincidences.”

“Really?”, Ashley said, crossing her arms. “And when they were the first ones there every time the cops discovered one of the Mermaid Murders victims, what about then? What about when the cops actually arrested that woman because they followed those weirdos around and discovered they were _helping_ her?”

Chase sighed, shutting his notepad and placing it in his pocket. “I’d say that’s enough for me to keep an eye out on them.”

“Exactly”, the girl said, nodding. “Please do that. Trust me, you’ll discover they did it in the end.”

Sighing, Ashley called the waiter and handed him her credit card. Wiping her hands with the napkin on the table, the girl grabbed her purse and got up, making Chase notice her all-black outfit for the first time.

“I have to go now”, Ashley said. “I’m helping Jack’s cousin Megan hold his memorial.”

A pause. “Do you want to come, Mr. Young?”

Keeping a still face on, Chase considered his options again. If he went, he could easily get more details about Jack Spicer, which would help the investigation. There was no other option, so he nodded. Luckily, he was already dressed in black.

* * *

Even though Chase hadn’t been to many memorials, he could already tell that Jack Spicer’s memorial wasn’t like any of the others.

For one thing, the Spicer home, where the memorial took place, was more of a mansion than a regular house. For another, it didn’t seem like many people were torn up about the boy whose murder Chase was working on solving.

In fact, Chase could easily count the number of clearly dejected people on his fingers. Other than Ashley, who tried for cordial smiles that never reached her eyes, he saw Megan Spicer, a very short ninth-grader, break down in tears every few minutes only to be comforted by her friends.

Even Alisha Zhang, with her blue hair and septum piercing, was clearly inconsolable. A rare thing, according to the two high school girls Chase was seated in front of.

“Lulu, I think I actually saw her shed a _tear_ ”, one of the girls said.

To her left, the second girl scoffed. “You saw Shadow tear up? What are you going to say next, Tohomiko Kimiko _cries_? You are _such_ a ninth-grader, Yu-mei.”

As he rolled his eyes, Chase tried to focus on literally anything else. The room they were in was clearly a ballroom reserved for parties but was currently stacked with chairs and two big framed photos of Jack, one at the entrance and one near the back, next to the speakers.

Near the first photo by the entrance, a few attendees, old, probably parents, were quietly talking to Jack’s parents, who were strangely reserved and still-faced. The mother kept throwing unimpressed looks at Jack's photo in the back, all unkempt hair and all-black outfit, a stark contrast from the blue-vested slick-haired photo at the front. 

Raising an eyebrow, Chase confirmed his theory that Megan, the cousin, must have been the one who picked the first photo, the only one Jack was smiling in, to the chagrin of her aunt. He also recalled that when he’d entered the house, he’d been as impressed by the number of artifacts and antiques filling every room as he’d been caught off-guard by the nonexistence of any photos of the Spicers’ only child.

He resisted the urge to write this tidbit down and once again found himself listening to the two girls’ chatter.

“I just don’t think it makes sense, Lulu, and—oh my goodness, she’s here”, he heard one girl say. “ _Lulu_ , Kimiko’s here.”

Curious himself, Chase turned around a minute and a half after the second girl’s gasp and warning to her friend and found himself sorely disappointed. He also found himself comparing the girl to the popular mean girls he’d seen when he was in high school.

It turned out that the Tohomiko Kimiko the two girls were afraid of, the one Ashley disliked, was 157 centimeters tall and was probably about fifty-two kilos soaking wet. She didn’t look like a tyrant, Chase observed, but rather like a normal, pretty schoolgirl who actually seemed kind of sweet.

That was what the detective had thought, of course, until he saw the girl direct an icy glare to the two girls behind him. _Fair_ _enough_ , Chase thought. Kimiko wasn’t a Wuya or a Leong Zhen-Zhen but he could now see where the students were coming from.

Chase kept his eyes on the tiny girl as she made her way to the front row on the far right, followed by a couple of girls and one dark-skinned boy, a ninth-grader judging by his looks. Vaguely, Chase recalled the boy’s name, Kimiko’s step-cousin Omi.

“Detective”, Ashley began, lowering her voice as she walked closer. “They’re all here, the four weirdos.”

“I only see Omi and Kimiko”, Chase said, narrowing his eyes. “Where are the other two?”

The girl sighed. “Don’t look right away. Clay is in the middle of the middle seats and Raimundo’s in the back on the left.”

“Okay”, Chase said, nodding. “Thank you, Ashley.”

Counting a few seconds after the girl left, Chase turned to look at the middle row and saw a white teenager in a cowboy hat sitting near a boy who didn’t quite look like him. Clay and his cousin Patrick, probably.

After a few more seconds, the detective looked to back row at the far left and saw a black teenager with a fade, sitting with a bored expression on between a few friends. Raimundo, Chase knew.

As much as Chase Young thought he was being stealthy, though, the four teenagers knew there were eyes on them everywhere. If it wasn’t the obvious police detective’s in the middle-front row, then it was the town parents’. And if it wasn’t them, then it was the classmates’ who were in attendance.

Omi, for one, wasn’t surprised they were being watched. His mind kept racing back to the last time he saw Jack Spicer. At Ms. Wong’s ice-cream parlor when Jack texted him and the others that they needed to meet up, ASAP.

Jack had been worried then, so worried and anxious, Omi still saw the redhead’s nervous twitches whenever he closed his eyes.

Sneaking a look at his cousin, sitting calm and collected with an icily still face, Omi took a minute before he turned and snuck a look at Clay, who caught his eye and simply gave him a curt nod. A nod that said they’d talk later.

When Omi turned back to face the speakers now lining up, Clay took the opportunity and slightly tilted his head to take a look at Raimundo. He kept looking until the latter felt the eyes on him and gave him a look, mouthing a silent ‘ _what’_ at the cowboy.

From her place, and although she hadn’t turned at all, Kimiko scoffed and kept her eyes on Megan Spicer, sucking the tears back in to attempt to talk. If the boys didn’t keep their cool, they’d all be caught before anyone could say a word.

“My cousin, Johnathan Jacob Spicer hated his name”, Megan’s wobbly voice began with a fact everyone in town already knew. “He couldn’t stand being called Johnny and when I first suggested we call him Jake, because of his middle name, he cussed me.”

She paused. “He came up with his name on his own, when he started sixth grade. He told me he wanted a new identity here in Henan—”

It seemed like even this beginning to a heartfelt speech was too much for Omi’s nerves because the boy immediately got up and briskly left the room. Pursing her lips, Kimiko waited for a few seconds before getting up herself.

“Uh, as I was saying”, Kimiko faintly heard Megan’s voice carry. “Jack picked his name on his own and…”

After an exact five minutes of searching, Kimiko found Omi in the Spicers’ backyard. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, panting roughly, trying to catch his breath. Sighing, Kimiko took her time walking to the kid, coughing to announce her presence.

“Omi”, she began. “What the fuck? You don’t think that you walking out of Jack’s funeral is a bit on-the-nose here?”

Still panting, Omi barely stood upright. “Everyone’s gonna find out, everyone’s gonna find out. Kimiko, I saw—”

“I don’t care what you saw”, Kimiko sharply said, before adding in a much gentler tone. “Your mind’s playing tricks on you, O. I get it, but you have to play it cool. Promise me you’ll at least try.”

Now better controlling his breathing, Omi stood fully upright and looked his cousin in the eye. He nodded and began to say something, opening his mouth only to be interrupted by someone else’s yelling.

“Yo, Big Head”, Raimundo said, quickly making his way to the cousins. “Are you out of your goddamn mind because it seems like _you are out of your goddamn mind_?!”

Kimiko took a step in front of Omi. “Hey, back off! It’s not his fault; he got overwhelmed.”

“Really? Let’s try that one when we’re in jail.”

“We won’t go to jail”, Clay said, announcing his presence and interrupting the fight. “Raimundo, don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Raimundo snorted. “He’s finally here. Ladies, the voice of reason, _Senhor_ Willie Nelson!”

“Look, ya can make fun of me all ya want—”

“And I will do that! Gladly!”

“—But ya need to hear me out”, Clay finished, clenching his fists. “No one is going to jail as long as we all keep our cool.”

Raimundo gave him a look before turning to look at the other two. “You know what? The cowboy is right, we need to keep it together. Which is why Omi is going to ruin us.”

“He won’t”, Kimiko defended, crossing her arms. “I already talked to him.”

“Well, that’s _reassuring_.”

Before Kimiko could retort, Omi intervened. “She did talk to me. I’m sorry, I know I ran out but I was kind of nervous.”

“Why were you nervous?”, Clay said, scrunching his nose. “It’s not like this was an open-casket funeral, Omi. It’s just a memorial.”

“I know”, Omi said, biting his lower lip. “But I saw Ashley talking to that detective, the one that came to school today.”

He paused. “I think she might know, about what Jack said at Ms. Wong’s.”

Another pause. “I think she might have, I think she talked to the cops, to that detective. Or else why is he here? He knows what Jack said about being—”

“Shut up”, Raimundo ordered, the smirk he had a second earlier quickly vanishing. Noticing the kid was opening his mouth to speak again, the older boy held his hand up. “ _No_ , shut up. What you’re saying right now is bullshit and if anyone heard you..”

He paused, exhaling. “If anyone heard you, then they’d know something is up. You can’t say that again, even to yourself, you hear me?”

“What Raimundo is tryna say here, little partner”, Clay began, patting the boy on his back. “Is that when you’re trying to avoid suspicion, running out of a murdered kid’s memorial because you saw a detective and talking about how that detective knows about a random conversation—that’s _pretty_ suspicious.”

Tightly pursing her lips, Kimiko ignored the other two. “Yeah, I don’t think Gatz told that detective about what we said at Ms. Wong’s. Even Jack wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell her.”

After a long pause, Raimundo cleared his throat and began in a low, particularly inaudible voice. “We need to get our story straight.”

“Yes, we do”, Clay said, resignedly agreeing with Raimundo. “They’ll talk to us and we don’t wanna walk in unprepared.”

As the teenagers stood in the Spicers’ backyard, setting their story straight and biding their time until each left within a distant interval of the other, Kimiko crossed her arms and surveyed the others’ faces.

Clay kept clenching and unclenching his fists, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Raimundo, as still as he stood and as confident as he appeared, was biting his lower lip so hard Kimiko knew he drew blood. Even Omi, who was mindful of everyone’s eyes trailing over to him every few seconds, was consciously and loudly regulating his breathing.

_Let’s hope_ , Kimiko nervously thought. They only had to hope Jack Spicer wasn’t stupid enough to talk to Ashley Gatz. And hoping alone, as they all knew, was never reassuring.


	2. Four the Hard Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there are some description of murdered bodies, just as a heads up.

Even though he’d made a big show of being unbothered and even though he’d threatened Omi to keep his cool and not even _think_ about that day at Ms. Wong’s, Raimundo couldn’t follow his own advice.

Every time he shut his eyes, Raimundo saw one of two things: Jack Spicer, as bloody and hysterical as the last time he saw him, and Ashley Gatz’s smug smile as she whispered to that long-haired detective at the memorial.

He didn’t want to think it, but there was a huge possibility that Omi was right and Ashley _did_ talk. A possibility he really didn’t want to consider now. It was bad enough he could barely sleep without sleeping pills since the river.

Raimundo really didn’t need any more of this shit and, honestly, he didn’t know how much more of it he could stand. _Figures_. His last year of high school had to be a burgeoning nightmare.

A hallucinogenic soot storm in Year Six, a mutilated homeless woman in Year Seven, a string of murders in Year Eight, suspected child labor law violation in Years Nine and Ten, the horrifying dead pig in the cafeteria in Year Eleven, and now this. A fitting end to a _stellar_ academic career.

_Here we go_ , Raimundo thought, readjusting his backpack straps before walking into the school building. _Let the whispering begin_. And it did, growing louder and louder when the kids whispering didn’t think he heard them over the music in his headphones.

It wasn’t like Raimundo wasn’t used to people constantly whispering about him. It was quite the opposite, he actually loved it when he was the center of the attention, the main event of every conversation. He was used to that and accurately expected it.

To him, there were two kinds of people in this world. Performers and observers. And Raimundo, coming from a line of martial artists on his mother’s side and circus performers on his father’s, was naturally among the former kind.

Putting his best unbothered expression on, Raimundo silently dared anyone to talk to him as he sauntered over to his first period of the day, calculus. Some days, he truly wished no one gave him the time of the day. Most times, especially in times like this, it felt better to be simply invisible.

‘ _Uh, fuck no, it isn’t_ ’, Raimundo could almost hear Jack’s thirteen year-old voice say. ‘ _You just say that because everyone_ notices _you_.’

In his head, Raimundo almost retorted that the weirdo with red contacts shouldn’t be one to talk until he snapped back to reality, only a second away from bumping into Alisha Zhang, one half of the duo currently set on ruining his life.

It was funny, the passage of time. A couple of years ago when Shadow moved to town, Raimundo had thought she was pretty cute. Interesting, even. A few issues of back-and-forth jealousy later, however, he couldn’t stand seeing her. The feeling was mutual.

“What’s the matter, Raimundo?”, Shadow said, giving him a faux-worried expression. “Thinking about where you misplaced the knife that slit Jack’s throat?”

As a few bloody explicit images clouded his head, Raimundo made sure his smirk was especially mocking. She didn’t get to walk away from this feeling like she’d scored a goal.

“Good morning to you too, Shadow.”

Steadily passing the angry blue-haired girl, Raimundo fixed a few hairs on his head before hearing his current pest’s next words.

“You won’t even try to explain yourself, huh? So that’s how guilty you _are_.”

“You know what, girl”, he said, turning around. He worked hard to stay unbothered, but the devil worked harder. “I’d love to talk, I really would, but I’ve _never_ been able to see things from your point of view. It’s just super hard getting my head that far up my ass.”

“Funny”, Shadow said, flipping him off. “I hope you burn in hell. I know you believe in it.”

Pausing for a second, she added, curiously. “ _Why_? I know you hated him, Raimundo, but why would you kill him? What could he have possibly had on you that nobody already knew?”

Another pause. “Was it illegal? _More_ illegal? Come on, if you killed the guy, you at least owe us a confession.”

Scoffing, Raimundo turned and continued his way to first period. He tried shrugging off what Shadow said and kept saying as he walked, but try as he might, he couldn’t.

It was one thing to know everyone thought you were a murderer, it was entirely another to actually hear it out loud. Raimundo shut his eyes momentarily, warding away the day that haunted his every waking moment. It’d been a month and he still couldn’t pass by the river. He still saw the blood everywhere.

Opening his eyes now, the boy shook the grotesque memories off him before walking in. The classroom immediately quieted when he walked in, to which he made a poor attempt at a smirk.

He knew this day was going to be horrible, he just _did_ , and yet he resisted every urge to skip today when he definitely should have. A thousand murders could happen but Raimundo was adamant on keeping a perfect attendance this year.

He’d already had the scholarship, he knew. That acceptance letter, sent by email and screenshot-sent in his family group-chat, was solid proof. And yet, a good attendance didn’t hurt if it didn’t help.

If anything, Raimundo couldn’t help but think, with all that was going on around him, he’d need all the help he could get to convince his hopefully-future-university that he wasn’t more trouble than he was worth. On a second thought, he couldn’t help but think, maybe he _shouldn’t_ have punched Jack that night after all.

‘ _You’re just like me’_ , Raimundo could hear Jack’s voice tell him, perfectly pitched and certain. ‘ _We’re both the same._ ’

Brushing that painful memory aside, Raimundo cleared his throat before walking casually to his seat. His eyes trailed faintly over a deeply frowning Clay, who hadn’t done the slightest thing to acknowledge his presence, a reoccurring theme since Year Nine, only broken once the day of the memorial.

With an odd head nod, Raimundo waved that off and marked Kimiko’s absence in the far back before taking his seat.

It wasn’t all that surprising that she didn’t show up today. Today _was_ the 23rd after all, a day she usually skipped. Maybe he should text and— _no_ , Raimundo thought, quickly reprimanding himself. He will _not_ do that, he won’t text her.

Just because she meaningfully glared at him last night every time he bit his lips too hard didn’t mean she cared about him. She only cared about not being found out because of someone else’s distressed lips, he had to remember that.

He had to remember that as easily as he remembered Jack’s crucified body and he’d be good to go.

‘ _Fuck_ _Jesus’_ , Raimundo remembered Jack telling him once in Year Seven. ‘ _No one’s gonna die for my sins but me!_ ’

Two rows to the right, Clay leaned back in his chair and tried as hard as he could to ignore Raimundo’s presence in the room and the redirected auras of admiration that came with it and scoffed.

Because Ashley had skipped today—after one hell of a memorial speech too, people said—Shadow Zhang had been working, alone and intent, all morning to tell everyone the truth, _their_ truth.

That he, Raimundo, Kimiko, and Omi had something to do with Jack’s death. She’d even suggested that Raimundo might have gone for the kill himself. A fact that was as shocking as it’d been greatly considered. And all of that did _nothing_ to shake the admiration off.

Even when the entire school thought he was a killer, Clay couldn’t help but wonder. Even then. _Oh well_ , the teenager thought, _God save the Prom King_.

Vaguely, Clay remembered that when he walked in, Raimundo gave him something of an unsure nod, breaking the unspoken protocol the two had developed over the years.

The cowboy could faintly recall that the last time Raimundo acknowledged him in public was when the former came out as gay—exactly two years ago, as his social media memories reminded him.

‘ _Congrats, Bucky_ ’, Raimundo had commented on that post. ‘ _About time!_ ’. Clay supposed that was meant to be supportive but all it did was remind him that Raimundo had done that _first_. Had done that louder, rolling up to school one day with a bi pride flag draped over his shoulders.

It wasn’t exactly a new thing but Clay still hated it and would still complain about it to Patrick from time to time. He didn’t want to be second place anymore; he didn’t _even_ want to be part of the race. He didn’t want to go to school and see that mocking, overbearing smirk every day. It reminded him too much of horrible days back in Texas.

_Then again_ , the cowboy thought. Maybe, for once, it was better to be overlooked while all attention went to his former friend. Sure, Clay was still suspiciously monitored by the teachers and Principal Cho and the creepy janitor, but he wasn’t as suspected as some people.

No one paid extreme attention to Clay, so no one knew just how much he’d resented Jack. Another thing no one also knew was how all that resentment evaporated when Clay listened to that voice-message Jack had sent on WeChat.

‘ _I know we haven’t talked in years, Clay, but_ ’, Jack had said the message, voice steady and wobbly before it eventually turned hysterical. ‘ _I need your help, please—please, you have to help me._ ’

Since they hadn’t heard his voice, terrified and hysterical and littered with sobs, they wouldn’t have understood why Clay went to Ms. Wong’s that day and they wouldn’t understand why he followed Jack and the others to the river after.

They wouldn’t understand why Clay felt the eyes Jack often spoke about on him right now, searing into back. Unrelenting and familiar and fading every time he turned to catch the culprit in the act. Clay couldn’t help but silently berate the dead redhead. _Why_ hadn’t he talked to them earlier?

As the class started and the whispering ceased, Clay opened his calculus book and notebook and straightened up in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raimundo sigh and do the same.

At the same time the calculus teacher, Ms. Luo, walked in, Kimiko stirred on her bed, three miles away. Pressing a heating pad to her abdomen, she cursed her entire existence, as well as everyone else’s, and prayed that the ibuprofen kicked in any minute now.

Even though she’d felt the searing period pains like clockwork every month, Kimiko doubted that she’d ever get used to them. Living in this town, in this house particularly, was bad enough without her own body parts turning on her.

Although she could never put her finger on it when she was first shipped in, Kimiko knew she would never like her Uncle Tadashi’s place.

From her ambitionless uncle with the desk job to his wife, who still taught at the small school, to their 2.5 perfect kids to their dog to the stereotypical family photos everywhere—everything about her uncle’s house and its inhabitants pissed her off. It was too happy for her liking, too _normal_.

And normal wasn’t Kimiko’s thing. It never had been and it never could be. That was why her uncle had never been especially keen on hosting her for the rest of her school career. Tadashi had always been on-guard since he’d known he’d have a budding arsonist on his hand.

As the years went by, he’d been wary of her friends and how they spent their time, he’d been wary of the people she dated, he’d been wary of her influence on his step-son Omi, and he’d been wariest of _her_ , since the Dyris Incident a few years back.

That was all to say, her uncle been especially anxious to get this year over with. And now with a murder investigation hitting so close to home, well, he was probably on his way to a stroke.

Sighing to herself, Kimiko kept fiddling with her phone, going in and out of so many apps, she eventually lost track. When she’d finally stopped, the girl saw she’d accidentally opened her chat with Jack Spicer, a collection of white and green pop-boxes marked with either ‘ _you deleted this message_ ’ or ‘ _this message was deleted_ ’.

_Okay_ , Kimiko thought. _I shouldn’t have done, I_ so _shouldn’t have done that_. But since she already did, Kimiko fiddled some more and restored her WeChat history from last month.

She scanned the texts she’d gotten and ignored. Her texts were from one-time ex Cong— _are you free? haha its ok if ur not x_ —, Lulu, a junior she’d tutored last month— _I know we’re not friends but hmu if you wanna hang out_ —, Raimundo— _u forgot your scrunchie_ —and Jack— _you need to call me, call me right NOW_.

But Jack had sent several voice messages, as well. She couldn’t understand them at first because of how thick with tears his voice was. He kept asking for help. And when Kimiko did listen and made the trip to Ms. Wong’s ice-cream parlor, she saw her two former friends and her step-cousin, all there to help too.

It didn’t seem like they did a good job either. No, a couple of hours later, Kimiko got another voice-message from Jack.

‘ _Kimiko, he’s still here’_ , the hysterical boy was saying. ‘ _He never left, he’s still here, he’s still—you_ have _to help me._ ’

Instead of answering, though, Kimiko didn’t even bother finishing the message. She judged she was warranted a lifetime of ignoring Jack after that day at the river. But it turned out, that was the worst thing she’d ever done.

_Not the worst_ , Kimiko amended in her head, frowning to herself now. _But close enough_.

Turning to her other side to see where the sudden noise was coming from, she faced the door to see tiny Zippy-Lou’s cheerful expression fall before he spun around and ran as fast as his little Corgi paws could carry him.

Frown deepening now, the girl got up and took a look in the mirror. She knew her scowls were terrifying, but recently, they’d been getting worse. Deeper and more etched into her face. It was no wonder why her aunt Jinglei told her she didn’t have to trouble herself with babysitting her cousin Ping-Pong today.

‘ _You really named my baby brother_ Ping _-_ Pong’, Kimiko could almost hear Omi’s peeved childish voice yell. He’d been understandably pissed off, considering he’d waited his whole life for a sibling. But, as a fourteen year-old Raimundo had pointed out, no one names their kid Boris and expects them to go bully-free.

Mouth corners tugging up at the memory, Kimiko vaguely remembered Jack’s earnest nods. ‘ _He’s right, you know. I had a great-uncle named Boris—he was a Soviet spy!_ ’

Thinking about Jack, that fourteen year-old Jack with his small smile and geeky ways, Kimiko couldn’t help but find herself wonder. Just who would have killed that kid?

_No_ , she now thought more insistently, curiosity making her gears spin into overdrive. _Who_ could have killed that kid?

Even with all the criminals who wouldn’t turn at a chance to rob the Spicer family blind or, at the very least, make a statement, Jack had never been the helpless sort.

He always had a device or two up his sleeve and money to burn on self-defense weapons. He’d had knives on him, too, even when his mother refused those knife-throwing classes. And once, early on in Year Nine, Jack had even managed to kidnap a blazed-out Kimiko for a sick, _sick_ prank.

_Still_ , she thought, remembering the proverb her grandmother was rather fond of. _Even monkeys fall from trees_ , and clearly Jack had finally fallen off his.

The last time she’d seen him was proof enough. He was erratic and jittery with heavy bags under his eyes and not one drop of hair-dye on his head.

Kimiko might have shown concern—or at least, tried to—but Jack gave her no chance. He’d immediately began talking about his stalker. He’d immediately asked them to follow him to the river.

After that, any feelings of concern or basic human compassion towards Jack swiftly evaporated. She didn’t think she’d have recovered from that anytime soon, especially since she’d went to a few extreme and rather drastic measures to cope.

Even in her state of jumbled emotions, Kimiko vaguely remembered another age-old saying. ‘ _Justice knows no friendship_ ’, because, well, it didn’t. No one, not even Jack, deserved to die like that, alone and crucified. And _that_ was something she was sure of, all sentiments aside. She just hoped he'd get it without roping them in.

As the girl shrugged off all thoughts of murder and abandoned temples and went in for a nap, her step-cousin was going all in, three miles away in his history class.

Fully engrossed and way too deep in to back out now, Omi knew it was frowned upon to use your phone in the classroom. Hell, it was borderline dangerous to try using it when Mr. Jeong Guan, the school’s resident hard-ass, was the teacher in charge. That was just a confiscation in the making.

The thing, though, was that Omi frankly could not give a damn.

After their unfortunate quartet broke the huddle and they all went home, Omi immediately went to his bed without any good nights. Something that saddened his mother even though she understood and left him a plate of dessert by the door. She didn’t know that Omi would have rather had a hug.

He’d spent the better part of the memorial in an anxiety-ridden lull and hyperventilating when he wasn’t. He kept remembering Jack and his shaking hands and twitchy smile. He remembered that fleeting sight at the river and feeling physically ill every time he remembered his dairy-free chocolate ice-cream.

By morning, though, Omi had a surprisingly clear head when he finally went home.

The fifteen year-old was concerned because he was aware that might be another form of trauma waiting to bite him in the ass, but he’d brushed it off and opened his laptop to a site where dreams and nightmares constantly met.

On Reddit, Omi went opening a bajillion different tabs with a bajillion different true crime Reddit threads. No, not about Jack’s murder. Even the police didn’t have enough information yet. He was looking for another murder, a similar one that had happened twenty years ago.

“Only heaven knows what the curse of that temple is”, his mother Jinglei had said last night, hugging him consolingly as they watched the force’s press conference. “Decades after that kid—it’s just horrifying. I’m all for respecting our heritage but if this keeps happening, then that temple _will_ need to be demolished.”

That kid his mother had mentioned at the start of her rant, Omi discovered, was a seventeen year-old local kid named Huang Dashi, a senior when Omi’s mom was a college freshman. Though _technically_ , as one Redditor commented, Dashi was eighteen since his birthday was the very next day.

Rolling his eyes and restraining himself from making an account solely to cuss out a person who _completely_ missed the point, Omi read up on Dashi’s murder. Or as the town and the papers, local and international, called it: The Mystery of the Murdered Monk.

According to the sources, the way Dashi was killed had been gruesome, from what they could tell. They’d barely identified him with all the burns and scarring but, thankfully, they discovered he’d been dead before his body was that abused.

Omi didn’t know these threads would get that graphic but knew they’d get worse, so he’d taken a deep breath before continuing to read. Now, seven hours later, the curious boy knew only six facts:

Dashi was no monk but he’d went to _Shaolin_ practice to appease his parents, but he’d been wearing the robes when he’d died. The robes, once orange, had turned red and black through blood and fire.

Dashi hadn’t tried to resist because there was no evidence of struggle. They’d found something akin to a spiral symbol carved into Dashi’s head, though no one knew what it meant. He’d been blinded. His murder definitely had something to do with Jack’s.

_Okay_ , Omi thought, so maybe that last one was more of a stretch than a fact because he’d just came up with it but something deep in his gut told him he was right.

His father had called those his ‘tiger instincts’ once because of how spot-on they usually turned out to be and Omi was just as adamant at following them now. It didn’t hurt to remember that there was a possibility he was right. After all Police Chief Cheng did say at the pressed conference that there were no hints of struggle so far.

Though he’d wished it, though he desperately needed to do that, Omi couldn’t share his theory, even if it was a hair shy from being proven.

If this was any other murder investigation, Omi would have gladly shared his theory with everyone from Zu'er and Mahu, whom he supposed were his friends, to Megan Spicer, whom he’d always been friendly with.

However, this wasn’t a regular murder. This was _Jack Spicer’s_ murder. And that meant that anything Omi said about how people needed to look back to old records to catch a long-time killer rather than spend time and money trying out new suspects would be immediately rendered suspicious.

Now that he’d heard what the other students were saying about him and the others being possible suspects, Omi knew for certain his theories were un-shareable for now.

He also knew that what he’d told the others last night was true. Ashley Gatz _did_ go to that detective and told him all that she knew, an event so foreseeable Omi would be ashamed to filed it under ‘tiger instincts’.

Truth be told, although Omi was part terrified, he’d still had half a mind to gloat to Raimundo about being right until he overheard two juniors in the bathroom say that the senior was clearly messed up today.

Another part of Omi was curious about _what_ Ashley actually told that detective because, well, there they were, still in school and not in handcuffs, so she couldn’t have said much. And even if she did, then she definitely knew nothing about Ms. Wong’s.

So what did she know, Omi wondered to himself as he scrolled further down several exhausted Reddit threads. Before he could come up with any speculations, though, Omi was surprised to see his phone snatched.

“Mr. Hui”, Mr. Jeong Guan was saying, stern frown already in place. “I believe you know the rules about using your phone in class? Can you tell what the school policy is again?”

Under the weight of his teacher’s intimidating face, Omi stuttered. “It’s not, phones aren’t allowed in class.”

“And if I find a student using a phone in class, what can I do?”

“You can”, the boy began, sighing. “You can confiscate it.”

Mr. Jeong nodded and held one hand out, saying nothing else. Sadly understanding the gesture, Omi handed the teacher his phone before sitting back down, head bowed in shame. He should have put his phone away after that last threat, he _knew_ it!

After the second half of the class passed, Omi made sure he took his sweet, sweet time packing up his book and notes before making his way to the teacher’s desk, where Mr. Jeong was sitting, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Omi put a bright smile on before speaking. “Mr. Jeong, I—”

“Spare me for one second, Omi”, Mr. Jeong said, now massaging his temples. He paused before handing him his phone back. “We both know you’re going to say you’ll never do it again and you will pay attention in class next time. What’s my guarantee, though?”

“I’ll, well, I’ll”, Omi began, unsure of how to play this. “I’ll never do that again, Mr. Jeong, but I mean it. You know me, I’m a good student—I rarely put a toe out of line!”

At Mr. Jeong’s unimpressed, unconvinced look, he added. “Or I try to! I promise you, it won’t happen again.”

“Let’s try to keep that promise, shall we?”, the teacher said, to which the student nodded. “And Omi?”

“Yes?”

“There’s nothing else you want to tell me? Anything at all? You know, I can always help.”

“No, thank you”, Omi said, nodding again. As he turned and walked away from class, his polite smile dropped and all his curiosities came rushing back to him. Another small thought was added.

Was his stickler of a history teacher actually born as a near-forty year-old man or did he just not know what teenagers were like?

* * *

Little did Omi know Jeong Guan had actually, astoundingly enough, been a teenager before he grew older. Sure, he’d always looked older than his actual age, but none of his friends had ever minded that before.

‘ _Come on, Guano_ ’, Chase could hear Dashi’s almost-forgotten voice say impatiently, always adding that extra ‘o’ Guan hated. ‘ _My mom won’t miss a few bills. Go and get us that beer!_ ’

Scoffing to himself now, Chase rubbed his face again and got off his bed. It was no use trying to sleep now. The birds had already been up for ages and so has the sun. Maybe he could try for some sleep tonight, but today was an absolute no-go.

Because his days working on a gruesome, point blank traumatizing murder case weren’t bad enough, Chase Young couldn’t get good nights either. Sleep evaded him the heavier his eyes got and his internet came and went as it pleased, leaving him with nothing to turn to but old memories.

Chase knew that sooner or later, he’d have to face these memories head on. He just didn’t want to do it now. All that kept coming back to him right now were the good times, rather than bad times, which was worse.

Most of all, Chase kept remembering his first day in Henan. The very first. He’d taken a seat in the far right of the last row and waited for Year Five math to begin, only to no avail. The teacher was late and a scrawny little boy stood up and dragged a tall boy with him from the first row to the last.

He loudly announced their presence and asked Chase what his name was. The rest, safe to say, was history. Dashi had been quite adamant about being Chase’s friend and he didn’t stop his adamancy even when Chase told him off and sulked alone at recess.

He hadn’t even stopped when Chase told Wuya to tell him off. Fact was, little Huang Dashi wasn’t even scared of Wuya or her glares and that was what made Chase consider the friendship at all.

As they grew up, patterns started to make themselves noticeable. Dashi was always too bold and outspoken, Guan was always strong and silent, and Chase was always a rebel, with a cause and very much without one.

Smiling now, Chase remembered the first time he’d introduced Dashi and Guan to Wuya, who took to calling them the Three Musketeers from Hell, but never really gave them the time of day. At least until they’d all gotten to high school and started taking periodic weekend trips to River Jin.

That river was one of the few things Chase remembered fondly about this town. It’d been where many firsts had happened. It was where Chase had belatedly learned how to swim and it where the four friends smoked their first joint.

It was also where Chase and Guan had first gone when they’d started sneaking out together and it was one of the last spots where they’d last seen Dashi together.

‘ _You two are together?_ ’, Dashi had repeated, sitting on a rock in front of the fire Guan started. ‘ _And what, you thought I didn’t know? I told you already, when it comes to secrets and mysteries,_ no one _has shit on me_.’

_And he was right_ , Chase thought, snapping out of this memories with a sharp breath.

It’d had been twenty years down the line and no one knew Huang Dashi’s killer, rendering his murder a cold case. Chase suspected that if Dashi were still alive, though, he’d have cracked that case in three days.

Chase sighed and took a look at his phone calendar. Three days since Jack Spicer’s murder. Well, Chase knew he was no Dashi but he’d still managed to solve a few cases back in Hong Kong. Maybe luck could strike again, even if it took some time.

Walking away from the bedroom window, the detective stretched for a minute before making his way to the kitchen and putting the kettle on for some well-deserved tea. As he waited for the water to boil, Chase grabbed the Spicer report off the kitchen table and gave it another re-read.

Victim was found at the abandoned Shaolin Temple at twelve A.M. on a school night. He was clearly a young student and clearly white, an American probably.

All of this was just as meaningless as the first time Chase read it, so he skipped it over. The part of the identification, though, was rather interesting. Everyone had immediately recognized the Spicer boy from the hair alone even before his parents got to the station.

A few investigators were convinced this was a theft, a kidnapping gone wrong clearly, because the Spicers were filthy rich. Chase had refuted that the minute it was said out loud. Sure, Jack’s wallet had had no credit cards and no cash, but Jack’s expensive shoes were still on his feet. And the credit cards were so far unused.

No, that crime was something else. Vengeance, it seemed like, but coupled up with something far more sinister. Re-reading the description of Jack’s body, Chase found one part especially intriguing. Jack had a spiral-shaped tattoo on his upper shoulder.

He didn’t know why that bothered him but it did and for that, he almost missed his kettle’s screaming. Something about that spiral-shape seemed familiar and infuriating all at once.

Biting his lower lip, Chase’s mind drifted to something else. His phone, charging a few meters away. He’d had half a mind to call Dojo since yesterday, but he kept hesitating every time he picked up his phone.

This felt entirely too self-serving and Chase, for once, didn’t want a reputation. As much as he wanted this clean slate to, well, be _actually_ clean, Chase also wanted answers. There was one thing he could do now.

“Hello Dojo”, Chase said, pouring his tea. He shut his eyes as he waited for the other man to finish greeting him. “Yes, I know, I miss you too. So, I have a little favor I want to ask you for—yes, something very inconspicuous—no, _really_. I want Huang Dashi’s case report.”

Waiting as he heard his friend exhale on the other side, Chase momentarily shut his eyes again and lied.

“Yes, I’m being serious—well, yes, I think it could help me with my case.”

After another very long pause, Chase snorted loudly as he heard his friend’s answer. “What? Dojo, are _you_ being serious, right now? Right _now_? You’re not back on drugs again, are you?”

The detective held the phone away from his ear, waiting for the yell. “Fine, fine, I’ll pass by your uncle’s. But honestly, this is the stupidest favor you could have asked me for. You should have held out for something better—clearly, you’ve learned _shit_ from me.”

Passing by Fung Wen’s teahouse wasn’t something Chase would have willingly done in an ideal day, but he supposed getting a file for a cold case warranted doing unideal things for other people.

Sighing one last time as he chugged his now-lukewarm tea in one go, Chase trudged back to his bedroom and got dressed in semi-casual suit, making sure his hair at least looked good to balance his overall appearance.

He looked himself a second longer in the mirror before mustering his energy to leave the three-story walk-up and wait for the bus. Crossing his arms as a surprised neighbor passed him to the building, Chase indignantly thought he should have protested for a work car before taking the job.

The only reason he didn’t was because Police Chief Cheng told him to not push it. Chase should have considered himself lucky he even got that job in the first place, Cheng had said, giving him a disdainful look, one that was very much the same even after all these years.

The one reason Chase could still wear that badge, Cheng said, was because of one Fung Wen. He had one chance and he better not screw it up.

Now, as the bus dropped him off in front of a traditional teahouse, Chase Young couldn’t help but muse on the strange passage of time.

Back in school, everyone had known about Mr. Fung’s obsession with tea. The perfect type for the perfect mood, the perfect flavor for stress relief, the heat—everything there was to know about tea was knowledge already obtained by Mr. Fung, everyone’s favorite guidance counsellor.

‘ _Why is he the only guidance counsellor here?_ ’, Guan had once complained, after a pretty harsh Fung lecture. ‘ _No one even wants to talk to Mr._ Fun _!_ ’

Chuckling to himself at the memory, Chase sighed before walking in. He himself had never liked talking to Mr. Fung at first. Everything you said in his office was somehow instantly transformed into a lecture topic. And since Chase was pretty much ordered by Principal Cho to go to after-school sessions in order to graduate, he’d heard his fair share of lectures and then some.

“Mr. Young”, a considerably older bald man with a black beard said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

The years were not kind to Mr. Fung, Chase observed. He’d lost the last chunks of his hair and he seemed haggard and beat down, all too resigned with life. Completely different from the Mr. Fung Chase had last seen.

He didn’t let his sad surprise show, though. Chase only smiled. “Yes, it has, Mr. Fung. Are you doing well?”

“Well”, the old man began, gesturing Chase to sit opposite him at one of the low tables. “I have diabetes now, so that mystery’s finally off the table and I’m quite jealous that your hairline has not receded one bit. How have _you_ been, Chase?”

“Good, good. I’m doing fine. I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I’d pass by.”

“Ah”, the old man said, smiling fondly. “A lie.”

Fung paused, giving Chase a sly look. “I know Dojo told you to see me. He called me as well.”

“That little bastard”, Chase said, allowing himself a small smile. “Even if he didn’t tell me to visit, I would have, Mr. Fung.”

“Two lies in one minute. Really, Chase?”

“Eventually”, the detective amended. “Eventually, I meant. I can’t lie and say it wouldn’t have taken me a month or two.”

Fung raised an eyebrow. “How long have you even been back?”

“Three weeks”, Chase said, wincing a little as he prayed Mr. Fung wouldn’t comment. “I guess you could say four but I spent that first week at home, furnishing my place.”

“And at week five, you started your job here with a bang”, Fung said, resignedly. “I heard about the Spicer boy. Very unfortunate.”

The detective smiled. “I’m sure you can think of stronger words than unfortunate.”

“As a matter of fact I can”, the old man said. Sighing, the bald man gave him a look. “You know, his father has been coming in here every day for the past two months.”

At Chase’s intrigued look, Fung explained. “This is where he and his mistress preferred to meet. Mrs. Spicer has the misfortune of, well, being _her_ , so sadly, Mr. Spicer’s affairs are common. The talk of the town.”

A pause. “He’s been coming alone these past few days, though. Sometimes, I’d go and give him his order and I see he’d been crying.”

“Crying?”, Chase asked. Sure, this was normal behavior for a parent whose child was murdered but from Jack’s parents it seemed rather odd.

The tearless memorial was still fresh in Chase’s mind. No Spicer but Megan had cried at that memorial and if it weren’t for her heartfelt speech, no one else would have taken the floor.

“Silently”, Fung said, nodding. “He never talks much. Jasmine tea?”

The detective nodded. “And he never said anything about his son?”

“He did, before the murder”, the old man said, gesturing for one of his waiters to get them both two cups of jasmine tea. “Whenever I asked him about his health and home life, Mr. Spicer would complain to me about his son.”

A pause. “I don’t know if he noticed, but I never specifically asked about his son. I never met him so I didn’t care.”

“And what did he usually complain about?”

“Well, his son’s clothing, his hair, his interests, his music—everything. Spicer didn’t really like his son but I suppose he _did_ love him. He’s his father, after all.”

Noticing a certain familiarity, Chase cracked a smile. “You’d think the man was related to _my_ father.”

“Chase”, Fung warned, raising one eyebrow as he fixed his critical gaze on him. “We spent about a hundred sessions in my office talking about forgiveness, didn’t we?”

Chase’s smile thinned. “Yes, we did.”

“And what do you remember from these sessions?”

What did he remember? Well, if anything, Chase vividly remembered his anger when Principal Cho gave him the option. _Go to counselling or risk failing senior year_. He also remembered the look on Mr. Fung’s face when he first saw Chase waiting for him at the office, all wild-haired and dressed in sweats, effectively breaking the school's dress-code.

Mr. Fung had told Chase that he knew he was forced to come to him so he wouldn’t push him if the boy didn’t want to. The guidance counsellor had also said that he’d never judge Chase—the one thing the detective had appreciated and never forgot.

One thing he didn’t appreciate, though, was how Mr. Fung always insisted on forgiveness. Not because the other person deserved it, but because _Chase_ deserved it. Because he deserved to grow and move on and hold no hate in his heart.

That’s what Mr. Fung had said whenever Chase mentioned his father, the man who’d been nothing but awful and vile to his son. The man who’d drank himself to death two nights after leaving his son at an orphanage.

“I remember”, Chase finally replied, nodding once. “You said we should forgive even if we don’t choose to forget. And I told you every time that I won’t forget and I sure as shit won’t forgive him.”

Fung sighed, tired with the dead-end conversation. “So you’re still hard-headed about forgiveness, Chase. The way you talk, I sometimes think you’ve never made mistakes yourself.”

“You know I”, Chase began, before taking a moment to sigh. That was a cheap shot, if nothing else. “I’ve never expected forgiveness for anything I’ve done. I made my peace with that.”

“Did you now? And I suppose that’s why you haven’t called Guan at all since you moved back. Not once in all five weeks and he _knows_ it’s been five weeks.”

A pause. “He told me he ran into you in school.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. It was unlike old Mr. Fung to reveal a secret, even when he didn’t agree with it.

“Just to confirm, you weren’t the one who told him I moved back, right?”

“I didn’t”, Fung said, shrugging. “Dojo did, however. You know my nephew and his big mouth.”

_That_ , he did. Rolling his eyes, Chase took a sip of the tea just placed down and tried to not crush his terracotta cup. This was such a typical Kanojo Cho Dojo move Chase couldn’t even be mad.

The first time he’d met Dojo was right after he went in for his second session with Mr. Fung. A mousy, scrawny kid, Kanojo Cho Dojo was never the most outgoing or confident of students. In fact, he’d even cowered a little when he saw Chase exiting his uncle’s office.

For some unexplained reason, though, Chase took pity on that kid. Dojo seemed too lonely and that was a feeling Chase had known all too well. Their friendship was a bit conditional, if it wasn’t plain odd, but Chase liked the then-sophomore.

Surprisingly, Dojo and his blabbermouth were a source of comfort for Chase. Neither Dashi nor Guan meshed well with Dojo and his endless quirks, though, so Chase usually hanged out with him alone.

“Since when do Guan and Dojo even talk?”, Chase asked, voice tinged with suspicion. “They have nothing in common.”

The old man agreed. “Time changes things, Chase. An old acquaintance can easily turn into a good friend.”

_Especially if they were the only one there_ , Chase finished the half-spoken sentence. He had to give it to the old man; he hasn’t lost his magical guilt-trip touch and probably never will.

“You know, Dojo”, Fung began, taking a sip of his tea. “Has been doing well for himself. Really well. He has his forensics job, as you know, and he’s _married_ too. Has a little Zia, as well.”

The old man paused, fixing Chase with a kind smile. “Guan is doing good too. He’s got a respectable job—a _noble_ job teaching schoolchildren.”

“You’re only saying that because you were kind of a teacher too”, Chase said, sarcastically.

“Maybe so”, Fung said, smiling proudly. “But I’m not exaggerating; he’s doing fine. Granted, he still doesn’t have the big family he’s told me he wanted, but he does have a daughter, so…”

Chase tried to play it cool. “What about it? Everyone knew Guan wanted to be a dad. A good one, too.”

“I’m not trying to do anything here, Chase. All I’m trying to do is fill you in on how everyone’s doing—”

“I could have easily known that myself.”

“—And ask about how you’re doing, in turn”, Fung said, keeping his tone stern but neutral. “I’ve wanted to invite you out with us ever since you came back. Maybe to a picnic or a barbecue. Maybe just here for some afternoon tea. But I always backed out at the last moment.”

He paused. “I thought I should give you your space. I, for one, _still_ can’t pass by the school or the abandoned temple and I’ve been here for _years_ , Chase. I didn’t even know Dashi like you did.”

Another pause. “I couldn’t even imagine how hard coming back here must be for you, so I bided my time. And then you go back to work and the first case you have is a horrific murder at that _same_ temple.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Fung”, Chase said, deflating a little. “I promise you I am and if I wasn’t then I’d—”

“Pretend like everything was okay”, Fung said, cutting him off. “You’d act like you weren’t as affected so you could finish the case. I know you, Chase. You go to self-destruction with the air of someone going to the market.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Fung, I can’t leave the case. This is my job; I’ll always face worse.”

“I never suggested you quit this case.”

“Well, what do you want me to do then?”

“Talk to someone”, Fung said, taking another sip of his tea. “A professional, someone who will talk you off the ledge if you find yourself there.”

Chase pursed his lips. “Is that what you did after Dashi?”

It wasn’t the town’s biggest secret, but everyone knew Mr. Fung Wen quit his guidance counselling job at the big high school three days after Huang Dashi was found murdered. Mr. Fung had been incredibly shaken even though he hadn’t really known Dashi.

It’d been what made the police suspect him before they knew why the man was that unsettled. Dashi had gone to see Mr. Fung the day he died.

He’d went asking for advice but Mr. Fung couldn’t follow the boy’s lead and so couldn’t help him before an impatient Dashi stormed out. It would be another twenty years before Mr. Fung would accept Dashi’s death wasn’t his fault.

“It is”, Fung said, shoulders tense. “I still talk to my therapist about that night every now and then.”

Nodding, Chase took his time before asking his next question. He sighed. “Cheng—Police Chief Cheng, he told me I had once chance in this station. He told me I shouldn’t screw it up.”

“You shouldn’t”, Fung agreed. “That boy deserves the justice Dashi never got and you deserve a new life.”

“Sure”, the detective said, unconvinced about the second part. “But I know that screwing up is what will happen eventually. It’s just how my life is. The good part never lasts.”

“If you want me to reassure you, Chase, you came to the wrong place”, the old man said, taking another sip of his tea. “There’s a big chance you’ll screw up this case. If you don’t, you might mess up others. You might fail and fail again—you can even fail a thousand times!”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, old man.”

“I’ll never lie to you, Chase. And to tell only half the truth is to give life to a new lie.”

A pause. “This is a new journey and it will be full of missteps, you just have to get around them. You have to give it everything it takes because, first and foremost, you’re seeking justice for someone else.”

“Okay, Mr. Fung”, Chase said. “I understand. I’ll give it my all.”

“And you will go to therapy? I’m not letting that one go.”

“Eventually”, the detective allowed. “I’ll do that. I have to go or I’ll be late.”

Though he clearly wanted to continue the conversation, the old man nodded. Then, as if remembering something, Fung raised an eyebrow, looking at his watch for the time.

“You’re going to be late either way. Schools are out and traffic is going to be ridiculous.”

“I know, that’s the best part”, Chase said, smirking a little. “My guests will run a little late, too.”

* * *

If he was being honest, Chase didn’t even want to interrogate this many students. He only had four students in mind, but he couldn’t single them out without feeling his stomach twist and turn at his own hypocrisy. So, he went for the next best thing.

A few extra students, he’d told Yi, just round up random students, save for the four he’d needed. Even though Chase hadn’t specified the number of the extra students, he wouldn’t have expected the crowd he got when he arrived to the station.

Noticing his colleague Yi’s arrogant beam, Chase gave him a look. “It wasn’t a challenge. You could have gotten five more, not sixteen.”

“I know”, Yi said, chest puffed with pride. “But still, go big or go home. Who do you want in first?”

“I don’t know, whoever”, the detective said, turning to survey all the students currently crowing the station. “Her. Let’s start with her.”

Chase swiftly walked to the interrogation room, quickly followed by the girl Yi ushered on. Noticing this, Omi made sure his face was still and his nerves were sturdier than he felt.

It wasn’t enough that he’d been to a murdered former friend’s memorial yesterday and had his phone nearly confiscated today. No, Omi _also_ had to be interrogated by the police. Sighing, he found his mind racing to memorial night again, back to Jack’s backyard.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be bad”, Omi had tried to say, after a long pause in which he and the others tried to think up a foolproof story. “There’s a chance it wouldn’t be the worst thing to mention what happened at Ms. Wong’s.”

Noticing Raimundo’s eerie silence and Clay’s warning looks, Omi had hurriedly added, “Like, it was only Jack sharing his thoughts, right? His worries. That happens, you know. It’s not like it’d be incriminating.”

“You’re right, Omi”, Kimiko had said, speaking first and startling her cousin. “That’s not incriminating, but you know what is? When they ask about what happened at the river and we have no choice but to _tell_ them.”

Giving him a scathing look, she asked. “What exactly do you think the cops will do to us after we tell them about that? Throw us a parade?”

“Well, no, but”, Omi began, stifling his curiosity. He’d only gotten a glimpse, but he didn’t know what happened at that river because he had to keep a lookout. “But they might go easy on us. We were only trying to help Jack and that has to mean something. We _were_ helping him, weren’t we?”

Sharing a look with the others, Raimundo laughed. “Oh my God, you’re not pretending. You really _are_ stupid.”

Walking to lessen the distance between them, the older boy gripped Omi by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, not blinking once. He seemed to be trying to communicate something to him telepathically but couldn’t get through.

“Omi”, Raimundo began, still gripping the younger boy’s shoulders. “Cops _never_ take the side of kids like us, like _you_ and _me_ specifically. You should know this by now.”

“With our history”, Clay added, making sure Omi caught his look. “They’ll be more than rightfully suspicious, which means we’ll probably get arrested. You can bet your bottom dollar on it.”

“But we were helping him”, Omi repeated, unable to let go of that point. “We were helping him. If anything bad happened then…we didn’t know.”

“But Jack told us”, Kimiko said. “We did know and we’ll be held accountable for everything.”

Raimundo nodded. “And _because_ we helped him, that makes us accomplices with the river and with anything else.”

“What if we don’t mention the river?”, Omi said, earnestly trying to make his point come across. “What if we just said what Jack told us at Ms. Wong’s about being followed?”

“We can’t do that, partner”, Clay had said, crossing his arms. “You know it will lead back to the river in the end.”

Snapping back to the present, Omi sighed and leaned into his seat. It was no use, was it? Even if he wanted to say anything, he wouldn’t be able to. He was just as terrified as they were.

And they’d been terrified to death. Kimiko’s snarl, Clay’s warnings, and Raimundo’s threats were all intimidating, sure, but Omi still noticed the nervousness present in every one of them. That day at Ms. Wong’s was no regular day, that much Omi knew.

In the interrogation room, Chase tried to exercise patience, keeping in mind that he wouldn’t get anything if he failed to reign his frustration in. He’d finished his interrogations and so far had nothing and many things all at once.

Twelve of the students he’d interrogated had said, more or less, the same things. And because they’d said the same things, Chase had been rather curious. Were they saying these things because they were true or was it because of a well-oiled smear campaign orchestrated by Ashley Gatz and Alisha Zhang?

_Jack Spicer was a bit of a loner_ , most students said. _He was strange_. _Lately,_ they’d all insisted _, he’d been creepy too, always nervous and anxious_. _He’d interacted with his old friends, recently spotted hanging out with them at the ice-cream parlor_. _They’d killed him_ , most students seemed sure.

The detective had thought all of his mysteries would be solved after interrogating the final four students, the ones he’d wanted to interrogate in the first place. Clay, Kimiko, Omi, and Raimundo. He, too, was now convinced they knew something.

Chase began his interrogations in the exact same way he’d always began them. He asked his so-far witnesses about who they were and where they lived before moving on to the important part. The victim.

On hearing Jack Spicer’s name, Kimiko’s nose twitched instinctively, though Chase couldn’t tell whether it had been with disgust off. She told him she knew Jack—that she knew _of_ Jack, as she’d kept saying—for six years, give or take—more or less, the same as what the others said too.

Kimiko added one thing, though. A sharp _no_ , followed by saying that after middle school, she didn’t prefer to deal with him. She never elaborated, even with Chase’s urging, insisting that she just thought Jack was ‘ _creepy_ ’.

Chase needed only one look at her file to catch the lie about not ‘ _even looking in Jack’s direction_ ’. In Kimiko’s file, it was written in bold that she’d broken Jack’s nose on purpose in Year Ten.

Another lie he didn’t need a file to confirm was Clay’s insistence that he and Jack had simply fallen out and had no shared interests anymore. Chase pinpointed the cowboy’s shirt the minute he walked in—a Joker shirt that looked eerily like the one Jack was wearing when he was found in the temple.

The other two were not as easy to catch in their lies, Chase observed. Even though he’d wondered if Omi was actually telling truth about his fallout with Jack or not, Chase was positive that Raimundo knew more than he was letting on. There was something about his face that screamed it.

Chase had then asked them a few questions about Jack. If they were close to him ( _that got a whole lot of blank stares, no’s, and one ill-timed scoff_ ), if they still spoke from time to time ( _that also got a series of no’s_ ), and if they were close with each other, sans Jack. If they still talked to each other.

That last question had startled the four, which made Chase smile on the inside. He hated nothing more in his life than a poker face in the interrogation room.

When hearing this question, Clay, the first to answer, uttered a no, followed by a hesitant ‘ _sometimes’_ as he mentioned a few school projects involving Kimiko and having occasionally waited after school with Omi, who was always late and always forgetting something.

Kimiko, for her part, said she only interacted with Omi. But sometimes, she had science assignments with Clay (he was the best in biology, that was just a school _fact_ ) and last year once, and only _once_ , she’d passed by Raimundo’s circus to drop by his homework because no one else wanted to.

Chase knew there were lies there, of course. He, like everyone else, knew about Ms. Wong’s parlor and he certainly saw what happened at Jack’s memorial.

Clay didn’t take to Raimundo, as all students told him, but he was not above a casual conversation with Kimiko, in school contexts, and Omi, whenever and wherever because he hadn’t exactly had anything against that kid, and that kid _alone_.

Kimiko seemed to have her own problems with Clay, except when it came to getting a good grade, and wasn’t above terrorizing him into a school project. And Omi was her cousin, so she’d obviously talked to him. She refused to comment on Raimundo, giving Chase a glare so cold he got flashbacks to his high school’s mean girl, Leong Zhen-Zhen.

Raimundo had said that he knew Chase knew for a fact that not one of them spoke to the other because they all fell out. With the exception of high school stuff of course, he’d added. Whatever his purpose was, Chase knew the boy defeated it when he mentioned he sometimes went to Omi’s for a quick football match.

And Omi, well, Omi was incredibly weird to Chase, for some reason.

Through his interrogation with other students, the detective knew that Kimiko was full of rage and fire—literal and figurative—and teachers actually demanded she take anger management classes. He knew she scared teachers as much as she’d scared students.

He also knew that Clay wasn’t much better, even if he’d pretended to be. That some kids thought he was a sociopath—though Chase corrected that that isn’t what sociopathy is—because he’d punched through a bathroom mirror when he thought he was alone. That sometimes, his sweetest compliments were tinged with venom.

Another thing Chase knew was that Raimundo balanced being admired and feared with the excellence of a tightrope walker. Chase heard students say they weren’t sure if the boy would joke with them or humiliate them but they knew sometimes humiliation was more likely.

With Omi, though, Chase only blanched. That kid seemed earnest, like he was perpetually seeking his approval and would never stop in a hundred years. His face was honest and so were his words and yet Chase couldn’t forget that almost everyone who’d walked in told him that Omi was a walking case of trauma.

Of course, even the sincerity on Omi’s face disappeared the minute Chase asked about the elephant in the room. Ms. Wong’s ice-cream parlor.

“It was just a regular hangout”, Omi had said, consciously keeping his breaths even. “We had ice-cream then we went home.”

Kimiko had answered with a shrug and said Jack called to tell them his news about his university acceptance, adding what she’d thought about ordering and what she’d _actually_ ordered. Raimundo had repeated that but added that Jack had gotten into MIT, a college he’d been talking about since he’d first known him.

Clay added his voice to theirs before elaborating that they’d been there with Jack since thought of MIT was just a thought and that even though they weren’t friends anymore, well, they’d still been there for the ride.

Only Omi had taken several pauses before answering and another long pause before adding to his words. He’d sighed to himself, as if he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say before saying it slowly, then all at once.

_Yes_ , Jack invited them to the ice-cream parlor to tell them he’d had big news, but Omi had forgotten what those news were. He’d brushed it out of his mind when he heard news of the murder. Now, he remembered, though. Jack had gotten into MIT.

Chase commended his performance, he really did. Omi had a natural acting talent that shouldn’t go to waste but still, Chase had seen through him the very first time that terrified look on his face came through.

He’d seen through all of them, actually. Kimiko’s poker face was excellent but she’d instinctively scratched her neck whenever she answered a question with a lie. Raimundo’s permanent smirk was only there because his mouth unsteadily twitched without it. Clay spaced out every two seconds and came back with a fleeting expression of guilt.

At the end of the day, Chase Young wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t bad at his job either. Through the four’s answers and the students’ many anecdotes, he’d had them figured out.

Kimiko never liked Jack and only tolerated him, aggressively antagonizing him and that broken nose story was proof. Clay and Jack’s relationship was plagued with little resentments and thinking there was only room for one of them. Omi only iced him out because the others did. And Raimundo was jealous, loud and clear, though that was probably mixed in with a middle school crush gone wrong.

With each other, things weren’t much different. The jealousy and bitterness were all too loud, all too present in the air and in their tones. Clearly, a lot had happened to sour any good feelings they might have had about each other.

Vaguely, Chase recalled some misplaced high school nostalgia before shrugging it off and fixing on his current task. If Chase could only trail them a little bit, he’d have the entire mystery laid out in front of him.

He wasn’t a three-day detective, but he wasn’t a dolt either.

* * *

Although it’d been a considerable amount of time since they’d gotten out of their taxi, Omi and Kimiko waited outside the circus’s flimsy metal gates for about ten minutes before they went in.

Omi, eager to get this short meeting over with, didn’t really mind if they’d just went in. However, seeing his cousin pace back and forth, fixing her hair every few minutes, he could understand why she was jittery. Kimiko didn’t want to seem eager to go in.

When he caught the eleventh minute passing, though, Omi had to step in. “Kimiko, come on. We don’t have all day and your uncle is going to kill us if we’re late _again_.”

“I know, I know”, she said. “Just give me a second.”

Sighing one more time, Kimiko smoothed down her hair before turning and walking through the circus gates. With Omi following in tow, she made her way, weaving in between circus trains. She was on auto-pilot now, having already been here half a hundred times.

Once at their destined train, Kimiko hesitated so Omi went in and immediately knocked, twice. If it were up to her, his cousin would have let them spend yet another ten minutes in the streets.

About a minute later, the train door opened and Raimundo, still in his outside clothes, greeted them with a curt nod. Omi walked in, followed by a haughty Kimiko.

Curious at all the new changes within the train, Omi scanned the place. Even if Raimundo did pass by their backyard every other Thursday, Omi hadn’t been to the circus since Year Six.

Kimiko, on the other hand, wasn’t as fazed. The last time she’d been in this train was about a month ago, right after the incident at the river—this was one of the coping mechanisms she still regretted.

Taking his seat at the edge of his tiny bed to the far right, Raimundo gestured them to take their seats, of which there were plenty.

Omi recoiled at the thought of taking his seat on any of the two other beds or the vanities’ chairs, so he dragged one of the throwaway futons. Kimiko dragged one of the vanity chairs.

“So”, Raimundo began, in a tone that suggested they were discussing math homework. “How did it—”

The boy was interrupted by a knock on the train door, to which he sighed tiredly. “Omi, can you get that?”

“Get it yourself”, Kimiko instinctively retorted. “He doesn’t have to do anything—”

Omi cut in before it got worse. “I got it. Kimiko, I _got_ it. Let’s get it over with.”

As Omi made his way to the door, Kimiko glared at their not-so-gracious host. Raimundo immediately noticed this and smiled as he shrugged. The minute the door opened, they broke off the staring game and greeted Clay.

“Took you long enough”, Kimiko said, missing the irony. “What? Trouble at the pig farm?”

Clay didn’t acknowledge that. “Okay, let’s not holler down the well. We all know why we’re here, right?”

A pause. “How did it go with y’all?”

“Okay”, Omi lied. “But that detective is so persistent, isn’t he?”

Kimiko crossed her arms. “He must be new, I’ve never seen him here before.”

“And if anyone knows about the working lineup at the police station, it’s _you_ , Koko”, Raimundo said, jokingly. “I bet your father will be so proud, knowing you’re keeping up the family tradition of being shady.”

She scoffed. Two could play that game. “And yours will be proud about that wonderful, _wooden_ performance. Be sure to mention it the next time you talk—you know, if you still do that.”

Giving their host one final glare, Kimiko continued where she left off. “I didn’t think the police actually got out-of-town detectives for any cases, so that’s weird.”

“He’s not from out of town”, Clay said, dragging a futon to sit on, notably much further than any of the others. “I overheard a few cops mention he and Mr. Jeong were in the same class.”

Omi seemed intrigued, though for different reasons. “ _Huh_. Do you think he knows about—”

“I stuck to our story”, Clay said, interrupting the youngest boy. “About MIT.”

Raimundo nodded. “Same.”

“Me too”, Kimiko added.

The best thing about that lie was that it wasn’t a lie at all. Jack did group-text them about his early admittance to the college, but it was the first and last text in that group.

Catching the others’ insistent gazes, Omi nodded too. “Yeah, I did too.”

A pause. “Do you think he bought it, though?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”, Raimundo asked, sounding more confident than he actually was.

Truth be told, Raimundo was worried because he, as well as the other three, probably already knew Detective Young didn’t buy shit.

Raimundo had heard about Hong Kongese detectives before. They were usually stubborn with their cases and never let them go until they’d solved them or gnawed them to the bone. And Raimundo had given the man enough attitude, the detective might’ve had a spiteful incentive now.

When Detective Young had asked him why he didn’t seem as concerned about Jack’s death, Raimundo wasn’t surprised. He’d expected this. Thinly-veiled accusations tended to follow him around this town because of his skin-tone.

He’d told the detective as much but the detective didn’t buy it. So, Raimundo went for the next best thing—making sure Detective Young knew he was seventeen, still underage, and under _no_ obligations to say more. He’d pretended he knew nothing about the blows he’d been accused of dealing to Jack.

“You and I are nothing alike”, he’d told Jack that night, almost poking the redhead’s eye out after punching him. “ _Nothing_ alike, you hear me? _Don’t_ pretend you didn’t.”

Even though that was the ultimate screw-up in Raimundo’s eyes, he didn’t know that the others had mini-screw-ups of their own. Clay was only late because he kept debating himself outside of the police station.

Should he go back inside and amend what he said? Should he explain to the detective more? Clay had been a second away from telling the detective Jack had iced him out of the group. He’d almost told him about that one fight he’d hated reliving and all the insults he and Jack traded back and forth, effectively ending their friendship.

And telling the detective about the icing out and the fight that followed meant Clay would inevitably have to mention the mini-spat that happened last May. There’d been one last school function for both parents and students and Jack had surprisingly rolled in with his father, a sight so unfamiliar Clay had scoffed.

Naturally, Jack retorted, an insult that mixed Clay’s background and his weight all in one go. And Clay retaliated.

“Y’know, Spicer”, he’d casually said. “It’s funny, you’re insulting the very thing your dad wanted. Mr. Spicer told me himself—he wished _I_ was his son, not you.”

Those words, spiteful and intending to hurt despite the friendly tone, made Jack go ballistic. And Clay hit him right back. Exactly what Kimiko had done and denied doing in front of the detective.

“Oh, right, I forgot”, Kimiko had said, seeing no way out. “I _did_ break his nose. It was a long time ago, though. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“He was being a creep again. It was his thing.”

And even though she wished it was—really and truly wished it—Kimiko knew she’d been lying. Jack wasn’t being a creep, he was being an _asshole_. It’d been near the end of semester one in Year Ten and he’d been pestering her when he failed to get on her good side. All of that she could handle. What she couldn’t, though, were the four words he’d said after.

“He never loved you”, Jack had whispered, making sure only she could hear. “I’m talking about Raimundo by the way, but if you thought about your dad—well, it counts too. Maybe we should start a club for that, you and I.”

“He might not believe us”, Omi said, breaking the silence and snapping the three out of their trances. “I, I kind of froze. When the detective was interviewing me, I froze when he asked me about Ms. Wong’s.”

He paused, guiltily hiding his face. “I tried to pass it off as a regular memory lapse, like I forgot or something, but I don’t think he bought it.”

Sighing, Clay threw a look at the other two. Raimundo should have been cursing Omi’s stupidity right about now, while Kimiko would have immediately jumped to his defense—not because she wouldn’t think that was mishap, but because she’d get to fight.

Neither was speaking, however. They shared a look together, unsure how to navigate this, and then shared a look with Clay, who’d already made up his mind, because of his own mistakes.

“It’s okay”, Clay said, in his kindest voice. “I don’t think he’ll have any grounds to press us on unless there was actual, concrete evidence against us. My cousin Amber-Lynn is a lawyer and she told me that herself.”

Noticing the redirected stares, he hurriedly added. “Not, like, recently, I didn’t talk to her recently. That was last summer.”

“Okay”, Kimiko said, voice croaky. She cleared her throat. “Let’s just review really quickly what—”

At that inopportune moment, the train’s door loudly opened and a tall woman in a long black dress entered. She didn’t greet them or introduce herself but she didn’t need to. Even without her big red hair, the train guests would have recognized Raimundo’s godmother, Wuya, anywhere.

“ _You_ ”, Wuya dramatically began, reminding Kimiko of that one girl from English when they read Shakespearean monologues. “In another timeline, you will betray me.”

The person she’d been pointing at, Raimundo, rolled his eyes before turning to the group. “See? This is what I live with.”

Clay’s face barely twitched at the joke. Here they all were, discussing their interrogation for a murder case, and his former friend wanted to make jokes about his guardian. Before he could say anything, one short man dressed in all sorts of colors and clown makeup walked in with a tray.

“Some _cafézinhos_?”, the man said. “For you and your friends? It’s been a long time since they were _all_ here. Good God, this is so exciting and—”

Raimundo, mortified and pissed off all at once, got off his bed and made his way to the short man, taking the tray off his hands.

“Thank you, Marco. You can go now”, he said, hurriedly. “Wuya, you t—can you please leave us too?”

Wuya gave him a look. “Relax, I’m only here for my tarot cards. A group came for a reading. Valentina might be a little late today, by the way, so don’t wait up.”

Nodding, Raimundo passed the tray around his former friends before taking his own _cafézinho_ and sitting down. After Wuya and Marco left, he sighed.

“Tight-knit community here”, Raimundo joked. “You were saying, Kimiko?”

Kimiko took a second to remember what she’d said. “I was going to say we need to review what he actually asked us, that detective. I have a feeling he took more time with us than with the others.”

“It’d make sense”, Clay agreed. “He left the four of us to the very end, but I just don’t understand, what connects us to the murder scene?”

A pause. “Other than whatever the fuck Ashley Gatz said about Ms. Wong’s.”

“Well”, Omi began, shrugging. “When we and Jack used to hang out, sometimes we hanged out at the old temple.”

Raimundo interrupted. “Only because Jack thought it was cool. None of us has been back there since, right? Personally, the place gave me the creeps.”

“Right”, Kimiko said, smirking. “You were afraid to ‘catch a ghost’ because the place was haunted.”

“It was”, he said, miffed. “And that’s beside the point. Nothing connects us to the place.”

Rolling his eyes at that old dance, Clay shrugged. “Well, if nothing connects us to the place then nothing connects us to Jack’s murder…except what—”

“Gatz said”, Kimiko said. “Yes, we know. So, that’s it? All we have to do is keep up our story.”

Raimundo nodded. “Yes. It’s not that far from the truth, right? It should be easy.”

_Easy_ , Omi thought, struggling not to roll his eyes. Nothing about this would ever be easy. Jack was dead and they didn’t know who did it and with the things went around here, they may never find out. Omi couldn’t let that happen.

Reading about Dashi’s case, he’d felt immense despair at the thought of that kid, once living and breathing and happy then dying horribly. He’d had a family and friends and opportunities and they were all gone. And no one knew who was to blame.

They couldn’t let the same happen to Jack. They weren’t his friends anymore but Jack still had a life, still had a lot to live through and experience. He’d deserved justice, some kind of peace.

Clearing his throat, Omi began. “We should do something.”

“Do _what_ , Omi?”, Kimiko asked, narrowing her eyes at him so he would shut up.

“We should find out who killed Jack”, he continued, noticing the reactions the minute he said it. “It’s the least we can do and—”

“And what?”, Clay asked. “Do you want us to fight Thanos off while we’re at it? Stop the end of the world? We’re just kids and—”

“ _Please_ , Clay”, Omi said, sternly. “You’re only insulting yourself now. We’ve never been _just_ kids and you know it.”

Clay pursed his lips. “I never said _normal_ kids but if it looks like a duck and talks like a duck then guess what it is?”

With that said, Clay shook his head, annoyed he’d even given this meeting a chance, and got off his futon and promptly left the train, leaving the train door open. He left with no goodbyes and not bothering to give any of the others a second look. Omi turned to the others.

Kimiko went first. “I don’t like agreeing with Clay, but he’s right and you know it.”

“If we join in on that investigation”, Raimundo began. “I can _guarantee_ you we’ll be going to juvie. And I’m not planning on doing that.”

Omi sighed. There was no convincing them and he knew it. Even when he was right, even when his instincts were spot on, his cousin and the two other boys never believed in him enough to follow his lead.

In their eyes, Omi knew, he’d always be ten years-old. Still, he was adamant in keeping up his research, even if he was alone. Doing something, even if he was doing it alone, was better than doing nothing.

“Thanks for nothing, then”, he said, dejectedly. “Kimiko, I’m going to get a cab.”

“I’ll be out in a minute”, Kimiko said, confirming. The necklace she’d been fiddling with as they all spoke had finally unclasped and fell off her neck and she was currently on a searching mission for it.

Interestingly enough, she found the necklace the minute the door shut. “Got it.”

Watching this amusedly, Raimundo took the final sip out of his small coffee before getting off his bed again to walk to her. Kimiko was at her most transparent when she had an ulterior motive.

“Need help?”

“Yeah.”

Kimiko turned to give him her back and lifted her hair. As Raimundo placed the necklace around her neck, the girl smiled at their proximity, that sudden warmth. He’d never felt like a stranger, even when she tried to pretend he was.

“Congrats, by the way”, she said and immediately cursed herself for the way her voice sounded, sarcastic and uncaring. She cleared her throat, fixing her tone. “I heard about the scholarship, Liu told me.”

Raimundo was amused. Liu Qiqi had recently been to his place for a science project and he’d let his scholarship news ‘slip’, knowing it was bound to get back to Kimiko. Liu had been trying to get on the girl’s good side for a while and any leverage helped.

Still, he hadn’t expected her to find out barely twenty-four hours later. He tried to sound surprised.

“Did she now? Thank you, I worked really hard for that.”

“I know”, Kimiko said, smiling a little. Now that they were alone, he’d dropped his unbothered Mean Girl Number #3 act, so she dropped hers. “I’m really proud—uh, _happy_. Happy for you.”

“Thank you”, he repeated, genuinely. Sighing, he made up his mind about an old self-debate. “So, how are you?”

Turning around with clasped necklace, she raised an eyebrow, so he explained, not without an awkward smile, “You skipped today. And it’s the—it’s the 23rd. You always skip it and—”

“Yeah, yeah”, Kimiko said, not that surprised he’d remembered. Even when he tried to play dumb, he was still observant. “I’m okay, like, full of ibuprofen but okay.”

“Good.”

Raimundo said nothing else but kept looking at her. His eyes traveled from her face to the necklace he’d just put around her neck. Frowning, he reached for the pendant, held it, then flipped it to fix it on its proper side, patting it afterwards without a second thought.

Apparently he didn’t know that that move made Kimiko momentarily forget how to breathe. Before she could do something stupid, though, Kimiko reigned herself in and asked a stupid question instead.

“I, uh, I forgot a scrunchie here, didn’t I? A month ago?”

Remembering that she only forgot her scrunchie because she’d stayed over, like she usually did from time to time, Raimundo felt the room heat up all of a sudden. Vaguely, he recalled his mantra from today’s math class. _She did not care and he had to stop thinking she would_.

Sighing, Raimundo cleared his throat and searched the vanity near them. “Yeah, yes. Here you go.”

“Thank you”, Kimiko said, taking the hair-tie from him. One of her fingers lingered on his hand and she was pretty sure he didn’t want to let go either. Oddly, she wanted to laugh but settled for a smile

Theirs had always been a weird relationship. Ever since they broke up, they’d both tirelessly annoyed each other in between rounds of antagonizing each other. Yet, when no one was looking, they didn’t mind the occasional kisses and the occasional taking-it-too-far, as long as no one brought it up afterwards.

Taking a step back, Raimundo chuckled, somehow sounding both bitter and amused. As much as he’d wanted to kiss her, he knew he’d be doing himself a disservice.

“Good night, Kimiko.”

“Yeah”, Kimiko said, mindfully tucking away her hopefulness. She coughed, trying to not sound hurt by the unusual rejection. “Good night.”

* * *

Chase was about to be the idiot he’d promised himself he’d never be.

When he’d answered old man Fung’s call in Hong Kong, two hours after he was disgracefully fired, Chase wasn’t so sure about whether or not he wanted to go back to his quasi-hometown. It mean old memories and old nightmares and possible encounters with Guan.

He’d only taken the job Mr. Fung had to pull a favor for after he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t be doing what he was doing now. Strangely, even though Chase knew what was happening, he couldn’t stop it and he didn’t want to.

After the detective left the station with his gathered-up notes and case-files, he took the last bus to his lonely apartment and got started on his dinner. Some leftover noodles and soup he’d already had for lunch. Barely touching that, he followed it by four mugs of coffee and now he couldn’t sleep or stand still.

But did he even _want_ to sleep? Chase didn’t need to think about it. He already knew that if he slept today, he’d dream of Dashi, perpetually young, perpetually dead. He couldn’t bare that today. Chase needed at least a one day break from this consistent nightmare.

Plied with coffee and running on almost twenty hours of no sleep, Chase only changed into a clean shirt to go with his sweatpants before leaving his apartment. There were no buses, so he simply walked until he found a taxi.

And that was how, about fifteen minutes later, Chase was breaking his promise to himself by standing at Jeong Guan’s doorstep. _Again_.

Hesitating, Chase considered what this would look like. Would he seem desperate or just tired? Would Guan understand?

Huffing to himself, he immediately shelved that thought away. Of course Guan would understand. Guan always did. There was never a thought or idea that crossed Chase’s mind, no matter how fucked up, that Guan judged.

Of course, that was also twenty years ago and Guan had been eighteen and way too accepting of everything around him. Chase sighed. Well, he would have nothing to lose, really. He could always pretend he’d been high.

Chase knocked once and waited for a few seconds before the door opened. When it did, Chase had had his mouth open in a greeting but in his shock, the answerer spoke first.

“Detective Young?”, Alisha Zhang asked, surprised. Dressed in simple pajamas with her blue hair in a bun, the girl looked like a normal teenager. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

Chase remembered his words. “No, nothing happened, Miss Zhang. I thought this was where Mr. Jeong lived but maybe I’m at the wrong—”

“You’re not at the wrong address”, Guan said, making his way to the door. Even in his pajamas, he looked like a boot-camp trainer. “I do live here, Chase. And this is my daughter.”

“Right”, Chase said, vaguely remembering what Mr. Fung had told him earlier. “Your daughter, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Guan shrugged. “It’s no problem. Come in.”

Nodding, Chase went in and discarded his shoes on the mat near the door. He followed the girl and her father, still trying to cope with the development. When Mr. Fung mentioned a daughter, Chase imagined Guan having a six year-old at most, not a high school senior.

“Coffee?”

Chase immediately shook his head. “No. Tea, chamomile, if you have any.”

“He does”, Alisha said, as her dad nodded and went to the kitchen. “He never lets a kind of tea pass him by without trying it at least once.”

A pause. “I heard you interrogated those four weirdos today, detective. Found anything yet?”

“This is confidential information, Miss Zhang”, Chase said, almost automatically. “And I didn’t only interrogate four students, I interrogated—”

“A whole bunch”, Alisha said. “Yeah, I know, but come on, everyone knows they did it.”

At that, Chase raised an eyebrow. His mind went back to the students he’d interrogated, all of whom were adamant that the ‘four weirdos’ had something to do with the murder. _Ash and Shadow are right_ , some students had said.

“I’m sure that’s in no way based on what you or Miss Gatz have been saying”, Chase said, amused.

Alisha smiled. “You can’t blame me and Ash for trying to tell the truth. Isn’t that what we’re seeking here, detective?”

“Sure. Not based on rumors and gossip, though.”

“It’s not a rumor just because you don’t have proof yet.”

Alisha paused, smiling as if she knew something Chase didn’t. “I’m not going to pester you about this now, Detective Young. I know you’re here to see my father—he told me you two were old friends.”

With that said, she nodded at him and tucked out of the living room, probably heading to her own room for the night.

Even though he’d only been inside the Jeong residence for about two minutes, Chase was already regretting it. Guan’s street had changed and so did his house. The home Mrs. Jeong had always welcomed them in seemed long gone with new furniture and décor and colors.

If it wasn’t for that one knockoff Van Gogh painting, Chase would have thought this was a different place altogether. And that wasn’t the only thing that bothered him either. Chase’s mind kept going back to the blue-haired girl who opened the door. Her accent seemed way too off for someone from Henan.

“This place changed a lot”, Chase commented, clearing his throat. “Love what you did with the decoration, though.”

Even from the kitchen, Guan’s snort was loud. “No, you don’t! I know you, Chase, and you’ve always been a sucker for traditional styles.”

A pause. “Don’t worry, the décor and furniture are all the same inside the rooms. I couldn’t let the living room be outdated, though.”

Sighing, a little relieved, Chase thought about how he’d move to his next question. There was no way it wouldn’t be awkward, he knew, watching as the other man walked into the room with the tea tray.

“So, how long have you been a father?”, the detective asked, silently thanking Guan as he took the hot mug from him.

Guan made a noncommittal grunt as he sat down on the couch nearest to Chase’s chair. “About seven years, I’d say. Officially, about two.”

He paused, noticing Chase’s curious gaze. “I was Alisha’s foster dad for a while before I officially adopted her.”

“Your last name isn’t Zhang, though.”

“She wanted to keep her old name and I could only respect her wishes.”

“Okay”, Chase said, his minimal worries leaving him. He’d foolishly thought maybe the girl got the name from someone else. The accent, though, was unmissable. “So, you’ve been to Hong Kong in the last seven years.”

‘ _Without asking about me_ ’ was left unsaid yet they both knew that was the rest of the sentence. Guan sighed and crossed his arms, an uncomfortable frown making its way to his face.

“I haven’t left here except for trips to Beijing and Shenzhen”, Guan said. “Alisha had been here for a long time, too. She was in a home for troubled girls in the city.”

A pause. “Her biological parents moved here from Hong Kong when she was five.”

Chase nodded. “And do you—does she still—”

“Keep in touch with them? No, not really. It was a bad situation, I’d say.”

“Oh, okay.”

Guan dropped his arms and re-crossed them, face shifting ever so often like he couldn’t choose which expression to settle on. Finally, he sighed and dropped all pretenses. This was the No Nonsense Guan that Chase knew, a master in calling out bullshit from day one.

“How did the interrogation go?”

Chase didn’t bother with his surprise. Yi had told him some of the students had been told about their interrogation via school assembly.

“Good, I suppose.”

“Good”, Guan repeated, now raising an eyebrow. “Did you find anything?”

Chase gave him a look. “You know that’s confidential.”

“And off the record?”, the teacher urged. “Come on, you know this town. Everyone’s going to find out by the end of the week.”

The detective relented. “So far, a lot of high school gossip. Full of clues I have to unravel.”

“Like typical high school gossip then”, Guan said, smiling a smile, making a few crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. “You picked the students at random, right?”

“Yeah”, Chase said, trying to ignore the sharp jab in his chest. With that faint stubble lining Guan’s face, a smile was just the last thing he needed. “Most of them.”

The teacher nodded. “Except for the Shaolin Dragons, of course.”

“The Shaolin Dragons?”

“Yes. The Hui-Tohomiko cousins, the Bailey boy, and that Pedrosa kid.”

“Oh, thank God”, Chase said, sighing with relief at that last fact. “I was wondering which last name I was supposed to use.”

Guan was sympathetic. “In Brazil, they have two last names but generally use the second one.”

A pause. “You think they have something to do with this?”

“I don’t know yet”, Chase confessed, not telling the whole truth. “There’s still a lot to be done.”

Nodding, the teacher let that topic, with all of the questions deeply plaguing him, rest for now. Smiling, he tilted his head and gave Chase a look, to which the detective tensed up.

“What?”

“Nothing, Chase”, Guan said, chuckling. “I just—doesn’t it seem weird that everyone who hangs around that temple likens themselves to dragons at any given point?”

Knowing exactly what the other man was talking about, Chase smiled. He had to admit hearing the words ‘Shaolin Dragons’ had sparked a memory not quite forgotten. Only when Dashi had come up with the names, he hadn’t named the entire group.

_'Blue Dragon’_ , he could hear a young Dashi saying as he pointed to a young Chase. He’d then turned to a perpetually resigned Guan. ‘ _Green Dragon and I’m going to be Red Dragon._ ’

Somehow like most of his childhood, Chase could vividly remember that day. It’d been a breezy summer day and they’d all been playing in Dashi’s house before his mother came out to tell them they had to go back home.

Dashi, she’d said with an admonishing glare to her son, has Shaolin classes now. Naturally, Dashi had been glaring back, not wanting to leave even though he eventually did. He’d told his friends to meet him at that Shaolin Temple two hours later when he’d be done.

When they’d went to pick him up, Dashi had been surprisingly excited. Today, the classes were really, really good! They’d had one hour of history and one hour of fighting. Did they know their old town used to be ruled by dragons? No, not literal dragons but—

_‘—Dragon warriors_ ’, Dashi had told them, toothily smiling and showing his front missing tooth. ‘ _They all had superpowers before the world knew what superpowers were!_ ’

“Remember when Wuya cussed him out for that?”, Chase said, smiling. “For choosing the names like someone died and he was the king of the world?”

Guan laughed. “How can I forget? She was so angry she was left out and she wanted to be Red Dragon.”

Sharing a look, they both started repeating what Wuya had said, with varying harmonies and a lot of laughter in their voices. It seemed ridiculous they’d all been scared of Wuya then.

_'Oh, go suck a fuck, Dashi’_ , Wuya had said, already squaring up. ‘ _If anyone is Red Dragon, it has to be_ me _—look at my hair!_ ’

Laughing together with an old friend, Chase found his smile slowly fading. He’d give anything to go back to days he’d previously declared as the worst days of his life. It should have been him, not Dashi.

“I miss him”, Chase said, confessing something that might as well have been tattooed on his forehead. “I miss Dashi. He should have been here today, Guan. He was the only one who always knew what he wanted.”

“He always wanted to be Conan Edogawa”, Guan said, smiling sadly. “He wanted to solve crimes here and there without settling down anywhere.”

Chase sighed, feeling like he needed to address the elephant in the room. “I miss Wuya too.”

“Still no sign of her”, Guan resignedly said, stating it more as a fact rather than a question.

“Not since she disappeared, no.”

If Chase had focused on Guan’s face at that second, he’d have seen Chase still remembered that day.

He’d already moved out from Wuya’s apartment a few months before, right after he’d made the worst decision of his life. He’d came back to visit her and found no one. She’d simply disappeared, vanished into thin air. And all of Chase’s searching had led him to nothing but dead-ends.

“I know how you feel”, Guan said, patting him on the shoulder. The movement startled Chase. Just _when_ did Guan get there?

Realizing their proximity, though, Chase couldn’t complain. He did worse. “You never got married, did you?”

Guan stiffened a little. “No, but I was engaged once.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why do you sound surprised?”

“Nothing”, Chase lied. “It’s just that you always said you’d never want to be married, so you coming close is a bit weird.”

Guan frowned. “I never said I didn’t want to get married. I just said I didn’t want to turn out like my parents—you know, like my father.”

“Yeah”, the detective said, nodding because he got it. “He acted like he’d woken up twenty years into a marriage with kids.”

“You maybe be joking but I think he actually thought that.”

A pause. “And you?”

“And me what?”

“Did you ever—”

“Get married?”, Chase asked, surprised. “No, never.”

“You know”, Guan began, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to make it sound like the worst thing in the world. It’s only loving legal commitment.”

Though he scoffed, Chase reflected on his tone. He’d been caught off-guard, no, surprised as if this was the strangest thing he’d heard. In a way, it was.

Chase had never considered marriage simply because he never thought someone would think about him like that. Not since, ironically enough, the man sitting to his right. They’d been on and off and on again in high school, dating mostly in secret until the very last few months when they’d told Wuya and Dashi right after the former had gotten back from a trip to her native Macau.

After berating them for actually thinking either of them could keep a secret from him, Dashi gave them his blessing. He’d congratulated them and jokingly asked when the wedding was, not knowing that he’d be directly contributing to a conversation they’d keep having for the next two weeks.

They’d been in their final weeks of high school and Chase, torn between wanting change and not wanting it, had spent them nearly always at Guan’s house. And during those nights they’d spent together, whether lounging on the couch or at the top of Guan’s roof, they’d talked about nothing but their futures.

They’d move away to Beijing, Guan had said, because that was the place to be. They’d go to college there and then Chase could take up a job as a self-defense instructor (or whatever he wanted to do) and Guan would work until he had enough money to open a Sanxian noodle shop.

_'Everyone knows Henan Sanxian noodles are the best noodles_ ’, Guan explained, matter-of-factly. ‘ _And I’m a good cook—we’d make a killing!_ ’

As he continued detailing their perfect future, Guan had said all they need would be a quaint two-bedroom, nothing too fancy. They’d make a home out of it in the end. They’d make a home out of anywhere, as long as they were together. Together, as they’d both said a thousand times, they’d face the world.

‘ _We just have to have a Dashi room, though_ ’, Guan had said. ‘ _You_ know _he’s going to be bothering us every time travelling the world gets too boring. Don’t you want to say anything? Add anything to our plan?_ ’

Chase had said nothing then. He’d only smiled and kissed Guan _. As long as the plan has you_ , he’d said later, _I’m happy_. And he had been happy for some time.

He’d been happy until Dashi distanced himself from everyone because he needed to find an actual path in life—one that lead _somewhere_. Until Guan’s parents started discretely suggesting that high school romances do last their course and they should be thinking about the real future, a future that made sense and had stability.

Although devastated, Chase had felt like the rose-colored glasses he’d been wearing were yanked off his eyes. So, he wasn’t meant to have a happy life. Of course, his friends would realize they bet on a losing horse when they’d chose him. Of course, Guan would leave him because Chase was chaos waiting to happen. The Jeong family knew that and Guan, being the perfect son he was, wouldn’t dare not obey a word they’d said.

So, Chase left too. He went down that path that had been easiest for him to find, deeply regretting it but not knowing where else to go. If it hadn’t been for Dashi’s murder and school’s early cancellation, Chase might have not even had a high school diploma.

“—you know, right? I didn’t mean to offend you or anything”, Guan was saying, awkwardly now, as Chase focused on the present again. “I was just commenting on marriage and stuff. If you still think that’s not your—”

Chase cut him off. “I wasn’t offended, just lost in thought.”

“Oh”, Guan said, relieved. “About what?”

“You.”

“ _Me_?”

“Yes, you”, Chase said, shrugging like it was obvious. “Coming back to this town, it’s kind of hard being somewhere that doesn’t remind me of you. And Dashi and Wuya, of course, but I never think about them the same way I do about you.”

Guan’s face was unreadable. “And what do you think about when you think about me?”

“I think about Beijing”, the detective said, snorting a little. Even though Chase had tried to make this funny, Guan had straightened up in his seat. “And Sanxian noodles and windows lined with little cactuses and having cabinets full of every kind of tea and a Dashi room.”

The teacher smiled, albeit a little sadly. “You remember the plan?”

“How can I forget that plan? I’ve never met anyone who planned their whole life, high school onwards, like you did. You even had the apartment’s _color_ _scheme_ picked out, Guan.”

As the other man laughed, raising his eyebrows at his teenage micromanaging streak, Chase smiled before speaking again.

“I’m not just joking”, he said. “I never met anyone like you, Guan. Is that sad? Even when I thought I was getting close to meeting that somebody, I never did. It always fell through.”

Pausing, Chase smiled, a little too cynically. “No one’s ever wanted me like you did, but I don’t really blame them.”

With that said, Chase noticed that the hand Guan kept patting him with on the shoulder was now gone and he knew he’d done it. He’d freaked him out years after leaving him, once as a boyfriend and another time as a friend after Dashi was killed.

Guan had every right to give Chase a piece of his mind. If he’d kicked him out right now, Chase would even commend him. Instead, Guan did something different. He leaned in and kissed Chase. Simple but not quick, like he’d wanted to do that for a while.

“I was expecting every reaction”, Chase said, unable to keep his sarcastic tone at bay. “Except that one.”

Guan laughed. “I bet you did. Some things never change, you know, and—”

Before Guan could say anything else, though, both men heard a strange sound. A rumbling, low sound that could only mean one thing.

“Chase Young”, Guan said, giving him an exasperated look. “When was the last time you ate?”

Even though he knew he should have probably been a little embarrassed at his stomach’s rumbling, Chase laughed. “I don’t know, ten hours, give or take?”

“Well”, Guan said, getting up and yanking Chase’s hand to get him up as well. “You’re eating _now_ , anything you want in particular?”

Chase shook his head almost immediately before realizing that, actually, there was something he did crave.

“Actually, yes”, he said, crossing his arms as he smiled. “How about some _congee_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -so yeah, all chapters are super long. sorry
> 
> -also, are Chase and Guan really Chiron and Kevin from Moonlight, who knows but also yes.


	3. All Roads Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omi's growing fixation with Jack Spicer's case sends a curious Kimiko on a search for the truth, not without some ulterior motives. Clay and Raimundo each face some uncomfortable memories. Meanwhile, Chase finds new important clues.
> 
> PS: some violence is mentioned.

Chase only realized he’d finally fallen asleep when he woke up a few hours later, sweating out his hysteria and panic. When he came to, he found himself on Guan’s couch with a small blanket torn off him.

After last night’s _congee_ and a kiss they both tried to brush as casual, the two men continued their nostalgic trip, remembering things like the time Guan was caught cheating in calculus and the time Dashi painted himself blue (don’t ask) and that legendary fight between Wuya and Leong Zhenzhen.

“Oh, no you _don’t_ ”, Guan had said, shaking his beer bottle at his friend. He’d told Chase—though he was probably saying it to himself, really—that he’d deserved a drink this late. “You do _not_ get to come to my house and pass yourself as the sane one in our group, Chase Young.”

He’d paused, smiling toothily. “You protested _everything_. You protested the dress-code, the curriculum, security—you even protested against _yourself_ once, remember?”

“I didn’t”, Chase said, voice catching on his own laugh. It _did_ sound like his teenage self, but admitting that would be too embarrassing. “When have I ever—”

“When you had the school cancel dissection classes because it was unethical”, Guan immediately interrupted. “And then told everyone— _the very next day_ —you didn’t get how we were supposed to learn dissection if it wasn’t practical!”

“Well, I was—I guess I was a little bit on asshole back in the day.”

“A _little_? Everyday I’m thankful I don’t have a little shit like you in any of my classes!”

But, of course, the conversation couldn’t keep up its steady spike and faltered. Eventually, Chase and Guan realized what they probably should have realized the minute they met again—it’d been twenty years since they’d last spoken and they were running out of things to talk about.

Sure, they’d had a lot of memories together and, sure, they did talk about their lives now, but every word was overshadowed by the things neither wanted to say but thought about anyway. Chase knew that if he wanted to really have Guan in his corner again, even if only as a friend, then that was a much needed conversation.

But just because he knew what needed to be done didn’t mean Chase was going to do it. He didn’t want to share anything about what happened that night, what happened _before_ that night, because he couldn’t.

So, after a painfully awkward silent spell, Chase said a curt ‘good night’ before attempting to leave only for Guan to stop him. He should sleep here because it’s getting late, Guan insisted. _Good night_.

Sleep, it turned out, was not such a good idea. As the details of his nightmare came back to him, Chase wasn’t surprised. He’d expected to see Dashi in his dreams again but this time the setting and everything within the dream were so different he didn’t see it coming.

In his dream, he and Dashi and Guan were lounging around in the latter’s room playing a video game until Guan lost and made some excuse about seeing what his mother wanted—a stereotypical a day as any. Dashi had laughed and gleefully took the controller and scooched nearer to Chase. He taunted him and Chase taunted back.

And then the vision changed. Dashi looked Chase in the eye, his big crocodile smile stretching his face, and said something casual before turning back to the game.

It’d thrown Chase into such a loop, he’d woken up and got out of the room to get some air. Everywhere he went, those words echoed— _It should have been you._

Fixing his clothes and hair, Chase got off the very real couch and tried not to think, though he’d known he would fail. That nightmarish Dashi was right, it _should_ have been him.

But only Chase and his illusions knew that. He’d known that the minute the police notified him of Dashi’s murder. It should’ve been him but he couldn’t tell anyone then—not Guan, not Wuya, and certainly not Mr. Fung or the investigators who followed him around afterwards.

It shocked Chase how fresh these memories were. Ready to come back to life and hurt him if he’d only pressed hard enough. And when he pressed hard enough, Chase could see how everyone’s eyes would turn cold when they realized the horrible truth.

_Maybe they already did_ , the detective couldn’t help but think. Why else would Guan verbally tiptoe around him last night, avoiding saying anything he really wanted to say? Why else would Wuya disappear?

Chase was no idiot. He knew that even when they talked about Dashi, about Wuya, about their once-upon-a-time plan, they’d left all these conversations half-said. They couldn’t talk about why Dashi wasn’t with them and they couldn’t talk about why they’d never went along with their plan.

And maybe they never will, Chase knew. Maybe that was the end of that. Sighing, he slipped his feet into his shoes by the door and took one last look at Guan’s old-turned-new home before silently opening the door and leaving.

No matter how brutal this internal conflict was becoming and no matter what Chase’s delirious state was doing to him, he’d promised himself that there was nothing more important than solving Jack Spicer’s case right now. There just _wasn’t_.

He’d made a point to show that today at work, so when he entered the station the first thing he did was go to Police Chief Cheng’s office to tell him he won’t be taking more cases as long as he was still working on this one.

Hearing this, the police chief smirked and gave him a onceover. “And what is this supposed to mean, detective? You’re acting like this is something personal.”

“It is”, Chase said, truthfully.

He remembered Fung’s words about screwing up the case but he just couldn’t let that happen. He still remembered Detective Zhao, the one who was working on Dashi’s case, and how he’d been so ashamed when he couldn’t crack it. That detective couldn’t even look Dashi’s parents in the eye. Chase was not going to become him.

“Fine, then”, Cheng said, though he didn’t seem too pleased. “Look, Chase, we all remember the impact of Huang Dashi’s death on this town. And I _know_ he was your friend and I _know_ this case might be hitting you too hard, so I’m willing to hear you out now.”

A pause. “But I cannot allow this behavior, this, this entitlement to continue. Just because I pulled a few strings for old Fung Wen doesn’t mean—”

“I was not trying to suggest I needed special treatment, Chief”, Chase hurriedly said. “I was only asking for a chance to focus on this case. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Cheng sighed. “Fine. Ah, I don’t know how to ask this in a way that’s not awkward but—do you need to talk to anyone? Our station happens to have an on-call therapist and she—”

“No”, Chase said, firmly. What was it with everyone and asking him to see someone? “I’m okay, Chief Cheng. Honestly, if I needed to see a therapist I won’t hesitate to ask.”

“Well, you’re seeing her after you solve the case, either way. You may leave.”

And leave, Chase did, exiting the old man’s office exhaling relief that turned into exasperation. Now, all he had to do was get to work.

On his way to his apartment to retrieve a few files he’d forgotten, though, Chase saw his work come to him. Unintentionally, he’d taken a shortcut back home, which meant he had to pass by the Shaolin Temple.

Ever since Jack’s death, the Shaolin Temple had become a sight to behold. No one was allowed in—and no one _wanted_ to be—but the temple’s exterior was another story. It was regularly cleaned and visited, with a new memorial set up for the murdered boy, right by the entrance.

Although he wasn’t one for sentimentality, Chase frowned. That spot where Jack’s memorial was set up was were Dashi’s old memorial had been.

Vividly, the detective recalled the first day he’d seen the old memorial. He, along with Guan, stood right next to Dashi’s grieving parents, who were crying as they thanked their fellow residents for the support.

The memorial was lovely, they said, and Dashi would have loved it. Now, though, there were no traces of that memorial, and Dashi’s parents had long since moved to another town.

Chase frowned as he approached the new memorial, suddenly seeing a person in the middle of all the flowers and teddy-bears crowding the view. “Excuse me? You’ve been standing there for a while.”

The woman, tiny and familiar, turned to give Chase a polite bow. “I’m so sorry, sir, do you want to pay your respects?”

“No”, Chase awkwardly said and tried ignoring the woman’s judgmental expression. “I was just asking if you needed help or anything?”

“Oh no”, the woman said. “I don’t. I was just paying my respects and I guess I lost track of time.”

As if realizing what she said, she took a look at her phone’s watch and gasped. “Wow, I’m really late now—sorry, I have to run!”

“Wait”, Chase said, senses tingling. He couldn’t shake the fact that he’d seen that woman somewhere else off and her familiarity was getting irritating. “Where do you work? I could be headed there so I could help you with your things.”

Taking a look at the few books she had on the ground, the woman shook it off. “No, don’t worry. It’s close; I work at the old library.”

She paused, smiling sheepishly. “Before you ask, yes, it’s _still_ open and functioning in spite of the new library. I suppose it doesn’t mean a thing now but some people still cherish the building.”

As she paused again, the woman threw a fond look to the memorial behind her. “You know, Jack was one of the few people who visited our library. I _never_ got used to it—a student spending all that time at the library in this day and age was rare.”

“Interesting. Jack sounds like he was the bookish type.”

“Oh, I know! He was. He loved to give me detailed reviews on everything he read too, especially when he thought it was interesting!”

“I’m sorry, Ms.?”

“Kang.”

“Ms. Kang, I’m Detective Young”, Chase began, excited and now with a new motivation for the day. “I’ll be going to the library with you. I have a few questions.”

Seeing the woman’s face transition from confused to shock, he added, smiling. “Shall we?”

* * *

To say Omi was getting ahead of himself in his ‘research’ would have been one sorry understatement. If anything, he was just getting started.

After reading all he’d read online about Dashi’s murder and finding every news report and information about Jack’s, Omi was slowly convincing himself of two things. He’d never go to the Shaolin Temple again and the two murders were definitely co-related.

He didn’t know why he was certain but he didn’t let it bother him. Call it ‘tiger instincts’ or trauma-induced hyper-fixation— _and boy, did he know a lot about both_ —, but Omi knew he was on his way to discovering something important. And when he unraveled one thread, he knew, his cousin and his former friends would be obliged to help him.

_It’s the least we can do for Jack_ , Omi thought, nodding to himself firmly. And they had to do it, especially _them_. But in order to convince someone of something, you had to have your evidence ready and that was what Omi was doing right now.

He took his old whiteboard out of his closet and was currently drawing a Venn diagram between Huang Dashi’s murder and Jack Spicer’s, twenty years apart in the same place. So far, only a few things were similar and the differences were all—

A loud cracking sound coming from the kitchen broke Omi’s train of thought. He rolled his eyes.

“Kimiko”, he yelled, knowing there was no one else in the house to scold him. “My mom said we’re having dinner when she and Uncle Tadashi come back—just wait an hour!”

His cousin’s high voice echoed from the kitchen. “He’s my uncle not yours, kid—give up and call him Papa already!”

Rolling his eyes again, Omi focused on his whiteboard and tried to pick back up from where he left off, which didn’t last too long. Silently, his cousin had made her way to his room.

“Omi”, Kimiko began, incredulously. “What the fuck?!”

_Crap_ , he thought, turning to see her standing behind him. He couldn’t tell if that look on her face was anger or confusion or both, but he knew she was going to yell.

Smiling charmingly, Omi shrugged. “What is it, Kimi?”

“Don’t you fucking dare”, Kimiko retorted, pointing at the whiteboard. “What the hell is this? Explain, _now_.”

“Okay, okay”, he said, gesturing her to calm down. “This is—”

Kimiko interrupted him. “Actually, don’t explain. Didn’t we _specifically_ tell you you’re not even supposed to _think_ about this shit? You mentioned your little theory and we said it’s too risky—what don’t you get?”

“Are you done?”, Omi asked, rolling his eyes. Sometimes, he wished he had his cousin’s talent for the dramatic.

“You got some nerve—”

“And you don’t have any common sense.”

“ _Omi_!”

“Well, it’s true”, Omi childishly protested. “Maybe you should ask me before yelling at me first, Kimiko. Do you even know what I’m doing?”

“Drawing a giant murder Venn diagram”, Kimiko sarcastically said. “But _fine_ , enlighten me.”

He sighed, bracing himself for the worst. “I’m trying to find out more about what happened to Jack by seeing what clues are out there.”

Taking a moment to himself, Omi couldn’t help but remember his ideal scenario for this. He’d load up on facts, gather up the old group, and they’d all be sold and even a little impressed.

Clay would whistle and give him a smile before saying something about how _‘the little rascal pulled the rug underneath them_ ’. Raimundo would agree and cuss him out but he’d be doing that with a little smirk that meant he was happy Omi didn’t give up.

Kimiko would be nonstop bragging about her cousin. Maybe they’d have gotten a pizza afterwards.

But he wasn’t going to say that out loud. “I was planning to go to you and the guys to convince you to help me catch the killer after I got enough evidence.”

“Catch the killer”, she repeated. “Evidence? Are you listening to yourself, Omi? The way you’re talking sounds like one of two things. One, like a cop.”

“And two?”, Omi asked, crossing his arms.

“Like you’re obsessed”, Kimiko said, giving him a look. “Which you are, by the way.”

Scoffing, Omi sat down on his bed near the whiteboard. He couldn’t understand her casualness about this.

They’d been through too much together and not once could he stand this level-headedness she had during disasters. Right now, he’d much rather talk to pre-anger management Kimiko.

“I think that’s a normal reaction”, he said. “You know, because someone was murdered and no one knows who did it. And it wasn’t just someone—he went to our school, he was our friend. He was _your_ friend.”

“ _Was_ ”, Kimiko said, though she winced immediately after. Disgusted, Omi scoffed and shook his head.

“I didn’t mean it—that came out wrong”, she hurriedly said. “You know more than anyone that I—”

“Hate him”, Omi said, not bothering to hide his accusatory tone. “You hate Jack so much you don’t even feel a thing about him dying alone and scared.”

Although Kimiko was trying to bury the situation, she clearly didn’t appreciate his words or his tone. Omi crossed his arms, unsympathetically, but Kimiko was furious.

The way he’d said what he said was not only accusatory, it was overbearing. Like she had no right to her own feelings. Like everything Jack did was erased because he died.

“I have every right to hate Jack”, she said, in a voice so calm it scared her. “You don’t know what he’s done to me—”

Omi groaned. “He pseudo-kidnapped you _once_ for a prank, Kimiko, big deal—”

“It _is_ a big deal”, Kimiko said, voice raising. “And you don’t get to decide how I feel about it, Omi. You _don’t_.”

_Of_ _course_ , she thought. Of course, that little twerp would not comprehend it. Omi’s sense of justice was unchangeable and, for him, Jack’s awful ‘prank’ was just what Kimiko and her middle-school evil deserved. So what? She probably got back at him with something worse.

So what if she was drugged out, slipping in and out of consciousness? So what if her mind rapidly went through the worst case scenarios when she saw those mock-a-thugs? So what if she was claustrophobic now?

“I hate Jack, I do”, Kimiko said, after a considerable exhale. “But that doesn’t mean I wanted him killed.”

Begrudgingly grumbling his agreement, Omi crossed his arms and added. “He didn’t deserve that.”

Nodding, she took her seat next to her cousin on his bed, after which the latter sighed and mumbled an apology she silently accepted.

“Do you”, Omi began a few seconds later. “Do you think the others feel the same way we do?”

Kimiko sighed. “Why wouldn’t they? Like you said, a person died and didn’t deserve it.”

“Yes, but”, he said. “It’s just, last time they didn’t even consider what I said. Clay immediately stormed out, you saw. Even _you_ didn’t think about it.”

“No shit, Omi. We were just questioned for someone’s death, it’s not exactly a team-rallying cry.”

A pause. “And anyway, it was always like that with us. We fell out for a reason, remember?”

“I don’t”, Omi said, scrunching his nose. “I really don’t? All I remember is you stopped hanging out with Clay and Jack and then you and Raimundo broke up and I had to stop hanging out with them too.”

Kimiko didn’t appreciate the implication. “I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“I know”, he said, giving her a look. “I chose to do that because you’re my cousin and I have to take your side.”

He paused. “I just wish I didn’t have to choose, I wish we didn’t give up on each other that easily.”

“Please”, Kimiko said, snorting. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Sneaking a look at her cousin out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders slump as he sighed and nodded to what she said.

Omi was simply too tired to argue and too tired of being kept in the dark, but Kimiko took that differently. Slowly, a theory started forming in her head.

Was Omi doing this because he was lonely? She remembered a few years back when Omi had no friends and constantly stuck to her and her friends.

The end result was that he’d been through the little terrors they’d all been through and ended up...different. A little too quieter than before and a lot more aware of everything around him, more focused. He had trouble speaking to anyone who wasn't family (or Clay, Raimundo, and Jack) until last year when Mahu and Zu’er from his class actively befriended him.

But was he still friends with them? Another bad thought made its way to her head then. Biting her lips, she asked, “Is everything okay in your class, by the way?”

“Yeah”, Omi said, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Kimiko shrugged. “Nothing, just, I was curious. Usually, you’d be giving me a headache by talking about what you and Mahu talked about today.”

“It’s, uh, it’s been a while since I talked to Mahu actually”, he confessed. “He told me his parents weren’t allowing him to talk to me anymore.”

Kimiko frowned. “Well, his parents are assholes. Who are they to judge you?”

Pausing, she had yet another thought. “Megan Spicer isn’t, like, try—”

“Megan’s grieving”, Omi said, looking his cousin in the eye. “She hasn’t been to school since the murder. She came once to get some stuff she forgot and when she was there she hugged me and thanked me for going to the memorial.”

“Okay then.”

“She’s not even—she told me she doesn’t buy into Ashley and Shadow’s theory, by the way.”

“Good kid”, Kimiko said, not without the tone of surprise. Megan Spicer was a kind soul who, if nothing else, was definitely on the path to become someone’s fairy godmother. “So, are you going to tell me what’s all this?”

As if a secret code was unlocked, Omi sprung off the bed and went to the nearby whiteboard.

“Okay, so this is a Venn diagram of both Jack’s murder and another murder that happened here a long time ago.”

“And we’re off to a great start”, Kimiko said, sarcastically. “Whose murder?”

“Huang Dashi. He was a student at our high school, twenty years ago.”

Pausing, Omi gave her a meaningful look. “And his murder is almost exactly like Jack’s too, look at the similarities!”

Squinting, Kimiko could barely make out the words without her glasses. “I can see you wrote they both happened at that temple.”

“Right”, Omi said, noticing her squinting. “And they were both tied up and they were both horribly knifed. And someone tried to set them on fire after.”

Scrunching her nose, Kimiko asked, “And the differences?”

“Jack was missing an ear and was almost totally mutilated”, Omi said, having trouble saying that last part out loud. “And Huang Dashi was blinded.”

A pause. “And there was a symbol carved into his head, too.”

“You googled this, didn’t you?”, she asked, curiously. “I heard your mom mention something about it when we were watching the press conference.”

Omi nodded. “I did. Do you want me to link you to that Reddit thread I—”

“Found it”, Kimiko said, already on her phone and put off by what she was reading. The more she read, the more she could see why Omi’s theory would make sense. But there was something else too.

Amid all that she’d read, Kimiko found one stereotypical comment. _This happened at my school actually_ , it read, _and it’s still unsolved—greatest cold case of all time!_

Normally, she wouldn’t have given that comment a second thought but it meant that someone, a student, knew about this case so it wasn’t totally forgotten. And that student didn’t write their comment like it was something horrifying. They seemed rather proud of the murder. Like it was something to behold, something that put their town on the map.

Kimiko hoped she wasn’t reading too much into it but she kept getting flashbacks to the last school she’d went to in Tokyo, where the main building was set on fire. Press coverage was incredibly consistent that some students were so happy with the arsonist they’d thrown her a goodbye party on her last school day before she was sent to Henan.

“Omi”, she said, finally finding her voice. “I hate to say this but I don’t it’s the same murderer.”

“Why not?”, Omi said, annoyed at being questioned. “They’re _exactly_ al—”

“They’re not”, Kimiko said. “Re-read the monk’s case. Almost everything was planned, to the tiniest details. The date of the day was important, the hour was important, the robes, the symbol—every single thing. Like a symphony.”

He crossed his arms. “Well, so was Jack’s. Jack, he was wearing white robes and—”

“And some comic-book shirt. And those robes weren’t even _Shaolin_ robes”, she said, insistently. “ _Shaolin_ robes are orange—if someone cared that much for details, why would they switch that up?”

A pause. “And the ear thing just seems like the work of a creep, honestly.”

“And what”, Omi said, rolling his eyes. “Dashi being blinded wasn’t creepy?”

“No, it was”, Kimiko said. “But it also seems like it’s something out of a human sacrifice pamphlet. I mean, honestly, O, the symbol on the poor kid’s head should have been a big fucking clue.”

He crossed his arms. “Can you get to your point _without_ patronizing me? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying”, she began, turning back to her phone, scrolling to find what she was looking for. “That Jack’s murder was sloppy in comparison. And it’s not as meticulous, you know.”

She paused. “This is not coincidental. Look at the time this comment was posted, Omi.”

“9:43 P.M.”, her cousin read. “September 13th…that’s like a week before Jack died.”

Kimiko nodded. “ _Exactly_ but it’s not just that. And you know what else happened around that same time, twenty years ago. You wrote it on the board.”

Pausing, she only took a minute before realization darkly dawned on her cousin’s face.

“And this person goes to our school and they’re writing this like this, this murder is the greatest thing to happen here. They’re frankly idolizing it—it’s messed up!”

“So you’re saying this could be some overeager imitator”, Omi said, pensively. “Someone who wants to play some sick homage to an old murder so they can get people talking.”

“Or someone who wants to be compared to their idol”, Kimiko said. “It’s fucked up but it’s the most realistic theory. It all links up!”

Nodding once then twice, Omi frowned suddenly. His cousin made a lot of sense right now, he actually felt kind of stupid.

He’d been too adamant about finding more about what happened to his former friend and he’d gotten too engrossed in another similar killing, he made diagrams before he made assumptions.

But something wasn’t right here.

If this was the work of some fanatic, then why wasn’t the murder more outlandish? Why weren’t there more similarities? Why wouldn’t it be reported right away so the killer could gloat instead of being randomly found by a local custodian, hours later?

But, most importantly— “Why Jack?”

“Huh?”, Kimiko asked, caught off-guard.

Omi sat back on his bed. “I don’t want to admit it but that creepy fanatic theory makes sense…but why Jack? No offense, but Jack was intimidating.”

“Jack Spicer and intimidating don’t belong in the same sentence”, she said, sarcastic despite the situation.

“Intimidating to normal kids, I mean”, he said, sighing exasperatedly. “He’d randomly start shit with random people and you could never really predict how’s it gonna end.”

Crossing her arms, Kimiko thought about it for a minute before shrugging.

“I don’t know. Maybe the killer chose Jack because he stood out. Maybe it was random. Or like you said, maybe Jack picked a fight with the person and they thought they could kill two birds with one stone.”

Realizing her nonchalance with the proverb, she forcefully shut her eyes. “Sorry.”

Omi didn’t notice. Lost in thought, he kept rubbing his chin and tried to accept that maybe these Venn diagrams weren’t getting him anywhere.

He liked the idea Jack’s killer being the same as Dashi, something felt especially hopeful about that theory. Justice would be served for everyone and a terror would be solved.

‘ _You’re so fucking idealistic_ ’, Omi could hear Jack’s voice say. ‘ _I can actually see you making world peace a reality. You’d annoy us into it._ ’

That exchange, if he really thought about it, was the last time he’d seen Jack like he normally was. It was three—no, almost four weeks ago and Omi was lingering after his classes ended, waiting for his friends by the gates.

There weren’t many students there and his cousin had long been gone but Omi hadn’t minded.

And then Jack, skinnier and looking like he’d pulled a rough all-nighter, came and stood near him, silently at first, before casually starting with a “how’s school?”

“It’s great”, Omi had said, because it was, so far. “I’m thinking of joining one of those MUN programs.”

“Ugh”, Jack had said. “Those MUN kids are the worst. They have their noses in the air and they act like they’re actually doing something.”

“I—our English teacher suggested it. She said it’d be good on my school records and it _might_ be good for college, I don’t know how these things go.”

“College? Well, damn, our little munchkin is growing up!”

Omi remembered little else about that day, except that he’d spoken with Jack some more and enjoyed his old friend’s company. He tried to avoid topics like his cousin and their mutual former friends and succeeded.

It’d been a normal conversation with an unfrenzied Jack—something that did not happen three days after at Ms. Wong’s.

Eyes flitting to her cousin every now and then, Kimiko found herself thinking, too. Sadly, her hundred-percent confirmed theory wasn’t as confirmed. Omi did make a point just now. Why Jack?

If it was a fanatic, Kimiko supposed, then they’d want an easy victim. Someone impressionable or, better yet, weak. And Jack was neither. Despite his telltale build and lack of physical strength, Jack was not helpless and a sloppy fanatic would not take him.

And on the off chance that a sloppy fanatic managed to drag Jack into that temple, then wouldn’t Jack have found a way out of it anyway?

Faintly, Kimiko remembered the news report of the murder she’d seen with her family on TV. They’d mentioned that Jack was tied up to that post in tight knots, firm boy-scout knots, that he wouldn’t have possibly escaped if he’d tried.

Unlocking her phone yet again, Kimiko decided to use her skills for good and messed around until she found that possible fanatic’s IP and discovered that she recognized it. How could she not when it was the same address of the only net café that was still open in town?

_No_ , she thought now, _it definitely wasn’t a sloppy fanatic_. It wasn’t even a fanatic at all because the odd knots and the IP details that didn’t make sense that way. Not the way it would make sense if it were a person trying to imitate a sloppy fanatic’s work instead.

Unconsciously, Kimiko found herself thinking that she could use Clay’s help with this. Not many knew this but his smarts went far beyond school academics. And once upon a time, he’d told them that he’d had a talent for mystery-solving. It didn't hurt that he went into it with his sense of humor in tact, either.

Hell, she could have even used Raimundo’s help right about now. Yes, in a way that was _strictly_ professional. He was the type that never really let a thing go until he knew he reached the bottom of it and that kind of dedication was certainly useful and—

_Wait a minute_ , Kimiko thought. Clay and Raimundo….and why hadn’t she thought of this before?

Something like Jack’s murder needed a great deal of guts and intellect, a rare combination not many had. And if she didn’t suspect either one of the two boys, well, she’d be stupid. Even objectively, Clay and Raimundo fit the bill.

An all-American boy, Clay was an _actual_ Boy Scout once. He was also smart and a meticulous planner—it was how they’d all skipped school that one Year Eight morning and took a trip to Zhengzhou.

_He has the knowhow_ , Kimiko thought. Of course, it went without saying that Clay also had the motive. He and Jack had never gotten along and it seemed like Jack always knew a tad too much about Clay than the latter liked.

And Raimundo, well, he might have looked like he was perpetually coolheaded but Kimiko knew deep down, he was always ticked off. He was kind of like her, that way.

And when he got ticked off, he was not rational. Everyone knew that. Couple that his impulsivity and his dislike of Jack, and it was _not_ a good sign.

Kimiko remembered their alibis. She’d overheard them talking on their phones about them at the station.

Clay had said he was homebound all day. Raimundo had said he was at the circus but he’d left to catch up with a few friends after training. Both lied. She’d seen them both that day by her house.

Having been home until late in the evening, Kimiko had seen Clay suspiciously bike by her house a few times until it got awkward enough. She’d also seen Raimundo at her gate, playing by an excited Zippy-Lou through the fence.

The latter had stayed a little too long, that she thought he’d stay there forever. When she’d went to the bathroom and returned, she saw he’d left.

Now that this thought, along with another far more sinister one, had crossed her mind, Kimiko couldn’t sit still. “I’m going out, I’m meeting Qiqi.”

“Now?”, Omi asked, surprised. “But your uncle is going to—”

“Just make something up, O. Something convincing, like Qiqi’s second cousin died or something, you’ll figure it out.”

Leaving the room before he could protest, Kimiko rushed to her closet, hurriedly changed into cute outfit, before rushing out the door, adrenaline making her walk more of a jog. She had to make it.

Though she hated the idea of calling someone a suspect without decent proof, Kimiko couldn’t help it when she remembered the river incident once again.

After Ms. Wong’s, they followed Jack to the river and were surprised by the sight he had laid out for them. Kimiko, who’d been in the lead, saw it and held back her bile, telling Omi, at the back of the group, to keep a lookout _far_ _away_.

She remembered many things. She remembered seeing Jack’s messy work and seeing all the blood it led to. She remembered limbs. She remembered being so terrified she forget her words and only remembered them when Jack started sniffling again.

“I didn’t mean to”, Jack had said then, crying and sputtering and shaking his head. “I’m just so—I was scared and he was everywhere and I couldn’t, I couldn’t tell and—

“Shut up”, Kimiko remembered saying, miraculously getting her voice back. “Shut up, Jack.”

Sneaking a look at Clay, she knew what the cowboy would say before he’d said it. “We need to get rid of this. If anyone knew we were here...”

“You’re right”, she said before turning to the barely held-together teenager. He would only be a hindrance in this state. “Jack, go get firewood. A lot of it.”

The minute Jack left, Kimiko shared looks with Clay and Raimundo, both with grim faces and knowing expressions. They approached the mess and she remembered that clearly too.

Clay’s face was cold and still, a perfect poker face, but his hands shook so heavily he couldn’t hold the body. Raimundo did because his hands did not shake once.

And after he was done, after he’d moved the body accordingly and got to searching for anything that would not burn, he turned to them with a shrug.

_Who do you think this poor bastard was_ , Kimiko remembered he’d said. Cool and casual like this was some everyday event. And didn’t that call for a one-woman investigation?

* * *

Clay didn’t want to blink. Even in those mini-seconds when it got dark, he could see blood. He had seen it for a whole week after Ms. Wong’s but it’d been gradually going away. Gradually leaving his life the more he thought about how this was his final year.

He’d finally get to be far away from all the trouble. That is until recent events, also bloody and evil, turned his life upside down again.

But, of course, this wasn’t a surprise. Trouble had a habit of finding Clay. That was his karma. He let his resentments get the better of him and he had done and said things he never should have done. And the end result was being haunted by blood everywhere, like some southern cowboy version of Lady Macbeth.

_I didn’t even touch it_ , Clay automatically thought, unable to help himself. _I didn’t touch it; that was Raimundo_. He moved it, but then again, Clay had handed him the ropes and he’d handed Kimiko the gasoline and the matches. He’d disposed of the things that would not burn and that made him guilty, that made him so guilty and—

He was _not_ guilty. No, Clay was not guilty of anything. He only happened to answer a call from an old friend and got caught in his mess. Again.

If he really thought about it now, Clay begrudgingly knew, neither Kimiko nor Raimundo were guilty of anything either. Even if he wished they were. The only guilty one was Jack, who’d asked them to meet up and who took them to the river.

But he’d gain nothing if he blamed it all on Jack now. Dead men, as his PTSD-ridden Grandpa Phil once told him, told no tales and stupid men blamed them all the same.

_Still_ , Clay stubbornly thought, this _was_ Jack’s fault. When he’d looked at him that day, Clay saw that Jack was devastated when they started the fire. He was crying and shaking and muttering to himself like he did not believe what had happened.

Clay couldn’t believe him. He wanted to hit him and pummel him to the ground for making them ever see that mangled old body, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stare and judge. And Jack had caught him after a while. A few days to be exact.

“I texted you”, Jack said one day before biology, looking worse for wear than the other day.

His roots were beginning to grow back their natural pale red color, his eyebags got bigger, and his mouth trembled when he didn’t speak. Clay judged he was still processing the whole thing.

“I texted you…but you didn’t, you didn’t answer me. Why didn’t—I need to talk to you, Clay.”

“Jack”, Clay said, firmly. “What’s done is done so let’s just avoid each other and let this year play out, ‘kay?”

Pausing before he readjusted his hat and left, the cowboy scoffed and whispered so only Jack would hear. “And for God’s sake, don’t be bringing shit like that up in school—someone might _hear_ you.”

Despite trying his best at getting away from Jack and whatever he wanted to say, though, Clay couldn’t. In a move of odd desperation and immaturity, Jack would grab the cowboy’s bag every time he tried to walk away and by the third time, the latter was plain pissed off.

“Quit it! Listen, you snake in the grass, I’m only gonna say this once. I have nothing to say to you and I wan—”

“But _I_ do”, Jack said, stressing his words. Adamant now, he sucked back his sniffles and for once, sounded lucid. “You were my friend once. My only friend. Can you be that again for a few minutes?”

Even though he wanted nothing more than to say no, than to refuse Jack’s plea for someone to listen to what he’d have to say so he would finally understand what that felt like, Clay had soon discovered he couldn’t.

He found himself barely nodding and suddenly heard Jack begin to speak, stopping every few seconds to catch his breath.

After his former friend was done, Clay had only nodded before leaving and ignoring Jack’s stunned expression. Clay had done what he had to do; he listened. Or at least pretended to listen and that was, honestly speaking, more than Jack had ever done for him.

Now he discovered, unfortunately enough, that he should have _really_ listened then. He should have at least attempt to advise him. _He said it was important_ , Clay thought, trying desperately to remember.

But what did Jack say? What had him so messed up, he just had to talk to someone he now hated? There was something about a name, Clay was positive. He didn’t know how it start but it was something along the lines of Wan, Han—something like that.

Sighing, Clay turned on his side on his bed and pulled the covers up to his ears. He heard the stomping and knew Patrick would be coming up to check on him now, like Aunt Janie asked him to every hour on the clock.

As he pretended to sleep, his brain went into overdrive trying to piece together everything Jack told him.

He’d heard bits and pieces about Jack being scared, which was obvious, and worried that someone was following him. He’d said as much when they were having their ice-cream.

“It’s been going on since the summer”, Jack had said after a few minutes of silence. “Everywhere I go, he’s there. Always following me.”

Raimundo was the first to speak up. “Why are you telling us this? Why not go to Ashley or Shadow?”

“It was summer and no one was here—”

“But why are you telling _us_?”, Kimiko repeated the question.

“I couldn’t”, Jack had said, giving each other a pleading look and lingering the longest on Clay. “I couldn’t tell them. I just found myself calling you guys and now we’re here. You have to help me, please.”

“Excuse me for pointing out the obvious?”, Omi had asked, choosing to uncomfortably butt in. “But why don’t you just call the cops? I’m sure they’d be more help than we ever could be.”

Jack didn’t answer that right away. He’d hesitated, freezing at first before twitching again as he spoke.

“No, they _can’t_ get involved.”

While the others shared questioning looks, wondering what the hell Jack could have gotten himself into now, Clay’s frown was already set on his face. “What did you do?”

“You’ll see. I need help.”

_Well, he wasn’t lying about needing help_ , Clay thought. But he was definitely lying about something. Clay understood him more than anyone else—he knew Jack more than his own family did. And he could tell he was lying.

That person following him wasn’t the deceased old man they’d found in the woods. If that was the case, Jack would have been alive and well right now. No, someone else was terrorizing Jack but not just by stalking—they had to be blackmailing him, holding something so important over his head he literally killed and was killed for it.

_Omi was right_ , Clay reluctantly allowed. They had to get to the bottom of this. But before Clay could start conjuring ideas, the door to his room opened after a knock and someone walked in.

“I know you’re not sleeping, cuz”, Patrick began, sighing. He shuffled his feet on the ground before adding. “I just want you to know you’re not alone in this, y’know. There are…there are therapists for this kind of thing—grief counselling, I reckon they call it.”

“Patty”, Clay said through the covers, giving up the illusion of sleep. “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But you should”, Patrick said, walking into the room and sitting on the edge of Clay’s bed. “Pretending it didn’t happen isn’t gonna do you any good. Fact is, you may be suppressing trauma and—”

“God dammit, Patrick”, Clay said, throwing the covers off him and sitting straight. “What do I have to do to let y’all know I’m okay?! I’m good, okay. Jack was my friend, then he was not, then he died. Why am I supposed to cry over his casket?”

“Because he was your friend”, Patrick said, incredulously. “I don’t believe I have to say this out loud, but even if you didn’t hang out anymore, Clay, he was _still_ someone you knew.”

He paused, exhaling slowly. “You had problems with him towards the end, everyone in school knows, but that don’t mean you can’t still feel sad. Or feel anything at all. I think you need this, you and those other kids you used to hang out with.”

“If I say I’m considering it”, Clay began, shutting his eyes. “Will you please let me rest?”

“Yeah, but I’ll keep pestering you about it until I see you going to those sessions.”

“Fine, then I’m going. I’ll try to, okay?”

Patting his cousin’s back, Patrick gave him one more reassuring smile before getting up and leaving the room. Exhaling loudly, Clay flopped back down on his bed. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if he felt upset about Jack.

Theirs was a loaded history, like Patrick said. The day Jack died, Clay hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d gotten up late night and left the house, as silently as he could.

Ridden with anxiety for some weird reason, Clay took his bike for a ride, intending to generally stay around his neighborhood, but kept landing around the Hui-Tohomiko house—a spot he’d avoid like the plague for the past four years.

As he biked and biked, Clay noticed that Raimundo, too, had spent an awful lot of time standing near Kimiko’s house, trying to knock but backing out every few minutes. Hidden by tree branches from a house way up the street, Clay planned to stay there until his former friend left.

Then, of course, he’d noticed Jack make his way to the cousins’ house. Standing still, Clay saw Jack and Raimundo talk and for a minute, it was just like old times.

He could close his eyes and pretend they were talking about pulling a prank or the town’s newest mystery. He could hear Kimiko’s shrill voice as she added her opinion. He could even pretend he saw little Omi walk by them, trying to eavesdrop.

And then Clay opened his eyes and couldn’t tell the difference. Sure, Kimiko wasn’t there but it looked like Jack and Raimundo were waiting for her before they got going. Omi was there, but he’d never hanged out much.

And Clay? Well, he was on the sidelines just like he always was. Shrinking after every cruel joke and glare. Blinking, Clay re-focused on the real-life people when they started to leave.

The feelings of dread returned soon after and Clay felt his stomach twist and knot all sorts of ways. A few hours later, the murder was announced and Clay hadn’t cried once.

While Clay was revisiting middle school, Raimundo was restlessly pacing around the train car he shared with four other people. He was getting tired of being cooped up but oddly, he didn’t want to go out either.

Something told him he needed to stay put, so he’d cancelled the few plans he’d had after early morning training. Raimundo wasn’t too upset about it either.

Lately the few almost-friends he’d had either avoided him or excessively hanged out with him for the notoriety. Just like how it’d always been, Raimundo knew, only amped up because he was now an unofficial suspect.

Even though that stopped bothering him years ago, he exerted a lot of effort to not think about it. _Only a few more months_ , he thought. A few more months and he’d get to go back to Rio, a city where all he’d ever been was normal.

“Raimundo”, Wuya said, breaking him out of his trance, opening the door and walking in. “Why are you still here?”

He shrugged. “It’s the weekend.”

“Exactly. You’re not going out? Today’s a special day and—”

“I don’t want to”, he said, truthfully. “And it’s not a special day; it’s just _one_ more day.”

She frowned. “Morbid, aren’t we? You’re letting that investigation get to you. You didn’t do anything and you have an alibi, don’t give it too much thought.”

“How can I not?”, Raimundo said, smiling bitterly. If only she knew. “Detective Young wants me locked up, I can tell.”

“Young”, Wuya mused. “That’s a new detective?”

“Yeah, he’s from Hong Kong but everyone says he used to live here”, he said. “Apparently he and Mr. Jeong used to be in the same class.”

He paused. “He looks like the type that doesn’t let shit go. And that’d be cool if he was spending his time looking for the _actual_ murderer instead of trying to find shit on us.”

Crossing his arms, Raimundo finally felt all the pacing he’d been doing and took the nearest chair.

He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe with their recent history—what, with the whole Dyris thing—he could see where the detective was coming from. And still, he couldn’t help but feel the unfairness of it all.

“You need to remember what I told you”, Wuya said, a small frown marring her face. “It’s always people like us who they’ll suspect first. Outsiders aren’t welcome in small towns.”

Scoffing, Raimundo acknowledged her with a nod. With her around, this day actually seemed kind of normal. But that was just Wuya’s effect.

Vaguely, he remembered the first day he and his godmother moved to this town. He’d been twelve and anxious and she was like she always was. Vibrant and ready to ‘take over the world’, like she loved saying.

Raimundo had to admit, he’d always thought that was a little strange of her. Then again, that’d also been his impression of Wuya when he first met her, with his dad at his first circus when they stopped in Chile.

Then, he hadn’t known that that strange woman who rarely wore shoes would be the person who cared about him most. Now, Wuya walked closer to him and rubbed his back.

“You can skip school next week if you want to”, she began. “It’s early in the term and you won’t have any trouble catching up.”

She paused. “I have some money saved up, so we can go to Macau, like we always talked about.”

Excited at first, Raimundo’s smile soon dimmed. “Nah, that’d be too much money. And I can’t miss school, you know about the scholarship—”

“You already _have_ the scholarship”, Wuya countered. “It’s okay to take some time off, especially with what happened. It’s not an easy thing to go through.”

“I didn’t go through it, though”, Raimundo said, hating how cold he sounded now. “The people who did are Jack’s family and Ashley. Maybe Shadow if she had a heart but we both know she’s coldblooded.”

Wuya chuckled and snuck him a strange look, like she wanted to say something but didn’t want to butt in. Raimundo raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing”, she said, shrugging. “I just remember back when you and Alisha were friends. It doesn’t seem that long ago and…”

Sighing, she added. “I just think maybe it’s time you two talked it out, whatever it was that made you fall out. You don’t want to regret not getting to do that when you had the chance.”

“Okay”, Raimundo said, cheerily. “Are you going to tell me to have a heart to heart with the rest of Jack’s corpse or are you done?”

When Wuya raised a surprised eyebrow, he backtracked. “I’m…sorry, but you make zero sense.”

“I’m glad you remember your manners”, she sarcastically said. “It was just a suggestion. What are you gonna do now?”

Raimundo faked a yawn and lied. “I’ll probably take a nap. I’m _really_ tired.”

Hands on her hips, Wuya sighed. “Fine and I’m heading out. If you need anything, you know the drill.”

“Okay”, Raimundo said, waiting as she closed the door behind her. “Bye!”

The minute his godmother was out of earshot, Raimundo exhaled a sigh of relief and relaxed his tense shoulders.

He didn’t lie about being tired but he did lie about needing sleep. What he really needed right now was to be alone, to not have to pretend to be anything but wholly confused and angry and worried.

Something was going to go wrong, he knew even if he didn’t like it. He hadn’t been able to sleep because of it. The last time he’d ever felt this apprehensive was the first day he moved here.

That first day, Raimundo wasn’t very optimistic. This was yet another town he’d have to discover with his new godmother, who was probably regretting taking him with her. Other than acrobatic training, all Raimundo had to look forward was his new school—even when he knew the kids were going just as bad than the kids in Shanghai.

And they proved him right. They were impressed with his background but didn’t really care about _him_. They wanted to be around him because of his newness—his ‘exoticness’, as one kid said—, but only a few kids _really_ wanted to know him.

Omi, a naïve kid who was also new to school, and his cousin who despised him at first, Kimiko. Then Clay and Jack, too. A bunch of nerds who were also new (or half-new) and foreign. He honestly didn’t think he’d like them or that they’d ever really like him

All it took was one week for that to change, though. Raimundo smiled at the memory and at the photo in his hand, the only one he’d kept. It screamed middle-school and they were probably in Year Seven.

He couldn’t remember who took it but the five of them were there. Clay hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and Omi didn’t quite have a defined face. Jack had braces, Kimiko had uneven singed hair, and Raimundo was there, too. Short and scrawny.

Raimundo could almost hear that photo talk. He could hear the kids in the photo yelling over each other about who stood where and how they were posing. He could hear them argue about what to eat. He could hear Jack and Clay argue about comic-books.

“You’re just like Dick Grayson!”, Jack had told him the first time he visited the train car, wide-eyed and impressed. “But in _real_ _life_. He was in the circus, too, and then he became the first Robin—a _superhero_ , Rai!”

It’d been the first time someone had told Raimundo something like that. And it was the first time others clamored to agree. Like he was _special_. He hadn’t known how much he’d appreciated that then. Now, looking at the photo in his hands, Raimundo felt tears threatening to escape his eyes and violently rubbed them off.

“You’re just like me”, he remembered Jack telling him the very last time they met, bitterly. “We’re both the same—you just won’t admit it. You always found it embarrassing, didn’t you? _Didn’t_ _you_?”

_No, nope_ , Raimundo thought. He wasn’t going to go there right now; remembering that exchange meant remembering what happened after and he wanted nothing less.

Right now, he was already dealing with a lot of confusion—for one thing, he was not entirely sure why he’d started tearing up and he really didn’t want to think about it.

And he wouldn’t get to either, because there was a knock at his door.

Getting up to answer, Raimundo took a look in the nearer vanity, making sure his eyes weren’t red before making his way to the door. The anticipation he’d been feeling had returned and when he opened the door, he knew why.

Kimiko was at the door. Not only that; she was also smiling at him like she meant it. Like he hadn’t turned her away just yesterday.

Once again, Raimundo remembered that first day his middle school friends visited his train. After Jack had spent a considerable amount of time ranting about Dick Grayson, a young Kimiko had felt left out and quickly made it known.

“And me?”, she’d said, voice even squeaker than it was now. “Who’d you say I am?”

Jack had only rolled his eyes. “ _Duh_ , you’re Starfire because, like, fire _obviously_.”

Pausing, he’d added, with a witty grin. “Maybe it’d be more accurate to say Star Hanabi, though. Isn’t that Japanese for fire?”

“No, you idiot”, Kimiko had said then, laughing and drawing laughs and giggles from little Omi and Clay too. “Hanabi means _fireworks_ , not fire.”

Raimundo hadn’t laughed then but only because he realized his heart was beating way too loud. When he first saw Kimiko, he’d seen that she was pretty. But she also had singed hair, a few burn scars on her hands, and a mean smile.

And then he’d heard that laugh and none of it mattered. Snapping him out of his memories and into the present, a very real Kimiko raised an eyebrow.

“What? You’re not gonna let me in?”

“No, uh”, Raimundo began, now noticing how awkward this was getting. “Come in. It’s just—”

Walking past him into the train, Kimiko prompted him. “Just what?”

“Weird that you’re here”, he said, confused and sniffing something odd in the air. She was wearing perfume but the smell was overshadowed by something stronger. “Did you fall into a gasoline tank or something?.”

“Yeah, I stopped at the convenience shop at the gas station”, she lied. “I stepped into a little spillage but I didn’t have time to fight them over it—I was in a hurry.”

“Why?”, Raimundo asked, smirking playfully. Even in his worst moods, he couldn’t help but tease her—it was a sport at this point. “Excited to see me?”

Kimiko shrugged. “Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Um, well”, he stuttered. Knowing Kimiko, this was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “I don’t—”

“I want a truce”, she began, smiling again. “Even if it’s just for today...today _is_ kinda special, you know.”

When he didn’t say anything and instead found the ceiling very interesting, Kimiko sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, dumbass. You forgot?”

“Kinda”, Raimundo said. “You know, murder kinda puts a damper on it. And you’re lying, you’re not here for that.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because—well, where’s my gift?”

Kimiko shrugged, smirking. “You’re looking at her.”

Struggling to hold in a snort, Raimundo gave Kimiko a onceover. She’d never be caught dead saying something like that. In fact, whenever she stayed over, she made sure all their conversations were neutral. If it wasn't about school, town gossip, or something on Twitter, she wasn't listening.

She wanted something, everything about her screamed it. From the way she’d been standing a little too far to the way she couldn’t directly look him in the eye.

_But then again_ , he thought, horribly allowing his emotions to override his brain, what if this was just nerves? What if she wanted a blank slate?

He knew he was being hopeful and he knew that this could be some twisted way to get back at him for rejecting her. He knew that she didn’t really care about him, but if she did all this to reject him back—well, he was positive he’d never bounce back from it.

Ignoring all of that for now, Raimundo focused instead on her eyes because, as she once told him, the eyes speak as much as the mouth. In that moment, all his suspicions disappeared.

She gave him that look that got him every time. That look that silently double-dared him and intrigued him all at once.

“I know that sounded corny as fuck but I really...I really meant it”, she said, walking closer to him now. “This is the last birthday you’ll have here and that makes it even more special.”

A pause. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. You don’t—”

And so, he didn’t. He just kissed her.

In the dead of the night at the circus, inside a far-off train car, Kimiko sighed and as silently as she could, she got off the bed. She'd been waiting for some time, but Raimundo had finally talked himself to sleep ( _and wow, did he talk a lot_ ) so it was now go-time. She could finally do what she’d really wanted to when she’d visited.

The first thing she did after leaving with the house was go to gas station. She had to. With everything going on, she was reaching her “fuck it all” point and there was nowhere else to turn but to her suppressed middle school urge.

All things considered, this week actively led her there. Her father once again couldn’t make it, though he was supposed to stop by for a three-hour transit. She had a _second_ makeup assignment for chemistry. _And_ she’d been interrogated for someone’s murder—all before the week ended.

That wasn’t the cherry on top, though. Far from it. Kimiko was now almost positive that she knew the killer and if it wasn’t one former friend she’d despised and fell out with, then it was _another_ former friend she’d despised and fell out with.

Not only that, her curiosity and her own sense of justice, amped up by Omi's stupid moral compass, made her determined to snoop around one of those people's houses for proof too.

While realizing all of these things at once, Kimiko snapped and swerved to the gas station and picked up a liter of gasoline. She then went to a nearby junkyard, gathered up a bunch of discarded trash, and lit a match.

Relieved and lighter than ever, Kimiko took her time to watch the fire burn. Countless anger management aside, starting fires was the only thing that ever really soothed her. And once she was calm enough, Kimiko picked her bag off the ground and continued her walk to Raimundo’s place.

She hadn’t felt awake afterwards. Truth was, it was more like a vivid dream. She’d been so determined when she left her room but she couldn’t just barge in and confront him. He’d just lie like he did yesterday after he fixed her necklace.

_I’ll just wing it_ , Kimiko had thought. Winging it was Raimundo’s favorite method of doing anything and she’d seen it work out more than enough times to believe it was valid. Yes, she’d wing it and she’d find an excuse.

But what if he wasn’t there? That thought stopped Kimiko in her tracks right in front of the circus. She didn’t know why that possibility disappointed her that much, but she shook it off. No, that’d be even better for her snooping.

And once there, luck was on her side and wasn’t at the same time. Raimundo was there, more distracted than she’d ever seen him, which meant she got a chance to come up with something.

She remembered it was his birthday and she remembered the one piece of advice she ever got from Dyris. ‘ _Boys like attention just as much as anyone else_ ’. With this, Kimiko gave the performance of her life.

_And he bought it_ , Kimiko thought, trying to ignore the knot of guilt forming in her stomach.

The worst thing that she’d thought could happen was that Raimundo could reject her. Plan or no plan, being rejected twice by the same person—an ex, no less—wasn’t…good. Instead, he bought it and kissed her. Somehow that was _worse_.

Shaking the thought off her, Kimiko focused on her task. This wasn’t the time or place—definitely _not_ the place—to hesitate and feel guilty when she had to find anything incriminating.

Kimiko searched the chest at the foot of the bed and only found a few props. Then she looked in the closets and found nothing there either. Frustrated, she carefully brushed through the vanities and other people’s things.

Sighing, Kimiko stood up and stretched. There was only one more place to look and she’d kept it for last because it was right by the sleeping boy. She bent down and opened the drawers, praying that Raimundo wouldn’t wake up.

When he only stirred but didn’t wake up, Kimiko continued her search. She didn’t know what she was looking for but whatever it was, Raimundo hid it carefully. Fed up, she almost shut the drawers before a little box caught her eye.

She _knew_ that box. She gave it to him. Intrigued now, Kimiko opened it. She saw a rusty old earring here and a note in a foreign language there. She saw a handwoven bracelet she gave him.

Then, she found a photo, one photo of all the former friends in middle school. Kimiko sighed.

No one could have predicted what would happen to them then. They couldn’t have known there would a hallucinogenic storm, a floating homeless woman, or Dyris. No one could have known it would end with murder.

Taking out her phone, she quietly took a picture of the photo. _For evidence_ , she tried to tell herself despite knowing otherwise. With one final look at the sleeping suspect, Kimiko decided it was time to go.

She didn’t want to admit she’d come all this way to come up empty-handed but that was the truth. A visit to the old temple would have made more sense. A lot of websites said DNA stayed for a lot longer than anyone thinks.

Sighing, she hesitated before deciding he was knocked out and wouldn’t feel a thing. Kimiko pulled a few hairs from Raimundo’s head before bending down to kiss his forehead. Force of habit. He looked his best when he was sleeping and not saying something stupid.

She regret that immediately, though. He opened his eyes.

* * *

In hindsight, Chase was very lucky to have decided to leave Guan’s house when he did. Sure, he’d done it out of self-preservation and a chance to avoid any and all awkward conversations but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t sheer dumb luck.

See, if he had debated staying for one extra minute he wouldn’t have caught Police Chief Cheng before he left the station. And if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have had to go home to pick up the files he left there just in time to run into Ms. Kang—the librarian who was, incidentally, the last person Jack spoke to.

Of course, as easy as it all sounded, Chase had a hard time getting Ms. Kang to speak without crying and startling the few library goers.

“Oh, it gets more awful the more I think about it”, Ms. Kang said, as Chase’s recorder counted. “The last time he was here, it was pretty late and I told him he’d need to leave because it was a school night—I didn’t even ask how he was.”

A pause. “And then—then I found out he died. It’s just so horrible!”

Chase sighed and offered the librarian a tissue from a nearby box. “I understand how you must feel and I don’t want to add to it, but can you tell me why you didn’t go to the police afterwards?”

“Because”, Kang said, hesitating. “I was ashamed that I didn’t do anything to help him.”

“Help him with what? Did he ever tell you there was anything he was struggling with?”

“No, not really. Like I told you, Jack came to this library a lot because he did a lot of extensive reading, researching and things like that. Every time we spoke, it’d be about whatever he was reading—a lot of history, usually.”

Taking a moment, Ms. Kang patted her eyes with her tissue before squinting and hurriedly added.

“Actually, one time Jack told me he was being threatened by someone”, she said. “He said that this person wasn’t going to leave him or anyone he was close with alone—something like that. This is important, isn’t it?”

“It’s extremely important, yes, Ms. Kang”, Chase said, nodding reassuringly. “Did you try asking Jack about the person threatening him?”

“Well, yes. I asked him if it was a school bully or, or if it was someone else—there’s a bad part in the next town over, no one goes there, detective, it’s—”

“And what did Jack say when you asked him if it was someone from school?”, Chase asked, trying to mask his annoyance.

Ms. Kang shrugged. “He didn’t really answer me. He just made a few jokes about it not being the 90’s anymore and that school bullies were out of fashion.”

A pause. “I didn’t want to push him too hard for an answer, though. I tried putting myself in his shoes, you know. I wouldn’t want to tell my librarian something like that.”

Another pause. “I should have pushed, though.”

Not knowing what to say to comfort the guilt-tripped woman, Chase gave her a reassuring nod and moved on to his next question. “You said Jack was here late on that day, right?”

“Yeah, yes...I know it sounds strange”, Kang began. “But our library tries to keep an almost-twenty four-seven service—it’s a stupid idea but it’s the one thing we have that the new library doesn’t. I had the night shift then.”

“Okay, so the last time Jack was here, how was he? Did he seem different than before? Anxious, scared, manic?”

“Manic as in…?”

“Unhinged”, Chase said, pursing his lips. “Off the rails.”

Kang took a minute to think. “I’m not sure if I could tell. Jack was always…a special kind of person. When he showed up, he would always talk a lot, loudly, but sometimes he’d come in and he’d be really quiet like something was on his mind.”

“But was there something especially different about him that day? In appearance or manners—anything at all?”

“No, no— _wait_ ”, she said, suddenly remembering something. “He’d recently re-dyed his hair and he, and he had a black eye.”

Having seen the body, Chase knew exactly what she was talking about. On Jack’s body, there were several signs of assault.

Of everything he’d seen, Chase thought the black eye was the weirdest. For a someone with everything at their disposal to torture Jack, it seemed odd that they’d stop to punch him in the face. A little too personal and vindictive.

Still, Chase didn’t understand why he was only hearing it now. “And you didn’t think this was important enough to be mentioned at the beginning of the interview?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, detective”, Kang said, her voice a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “It didn’t seem that important, honestly. Every few days, Jack came here with a scar or a punch or two.”

Noticing the man’s face, she explained. “He told me he liked tinkering around with little robots and stuff—it was a hobby, so I didn’t pay much attention to the work injuries.”

“And the black eyes?”

“Jack told me he had a lot of fights in school.”

“It seems like he told you a lot”, Chase commented, raising an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t he tell you who was following him?”

“I told you”, Kang said, emphasizing her words. “He talks _a_ _lot_ but there are some area where I didn’t feel like I should have intervened—that seemed like more of a parental area. And I told a teacher friend of mine to talk to his parents about this.”

“And did they?”

“You tell me. Didn’t you talk to Jack’s parents, detective?”

“We’re working on it”, Chase said, a little too gruffly.

He tried to approach the Spicers at the memorial but they told him they would talk to the police after their lawyer landed and they had all their affairs in order. The memory wasn’t pleasant but, sadly, he understood.

The Spicers didn’t want to find themselves suddenly extradited because they were caught off-guard by an investigation. Even if it was for their son’s murder.

“So”, he began, clearing his throat. “A few people told me Jack used to hang around that area with a few friends so did he mention anything about the abandoned Shaolin temple here? Anything that stands out?”

“He didn’t mention the temple”, Kang said. “But he _did_ read through a lot of the town’s history so I wouldn’t be surprised if he read about it.”

Pursing her lips, she added, “But speaking of Jack’s friends, one of them came here to visit him once.”

“When?”, Chase asked, curiously. “Around the time of the murder?”

“The last day he was here”, Kang said, nodding. “It was someone from his class, I think. A boy. He was…tall, had curly hair, and, um, he was, um, darker skinned.”

“And can you say what happened when this friend visited Jack?”

“Yeah, they went to one of the tables to chat. I saw them and it looked like they were having a fight. I had to tell them to keep it down and not fight inside the library.”

“Did you get to hear what they were talking about?”, Chase asked.

Kang shook her head. “No, I heard but I didn’t really get it. It was mostly in English and I’m not very fluent. It wasn’t a long conversation, though—the boy left pretty quickly and Jack didn’t seem to take it well.”

“I see”, Chase said, taking his off the table. He kept the recorder on and went through his gallery. He clicked on a class photo of the big high school’s current seniors and zoomed in one student. “Was that the friend?”

Taking one look then a second and a third, Kang looked back at Chase and nodded. “Yes, that’s him.”

As Detective Young and Ms. Kang talked, neither adult noticed the teenager eavesdropping behind one of the nearby bookshelves. Omi made sure they wouldn’t notice him either, hood pulled up and a spare face-mask on for any effort in hiding his face.

Quiet as a mouse, Omi was thankful he’d left his house when he did and he was thankful he lost track of his cousin in the busy streets near the library.

If he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have caught the detective briskly walking into the old building with Ms. Kang and he wouldn’t have known what he knew now.

Straining his ears to listen, Omi caught a few things. Jack came here to read history books. He was here right before he died. He’d fought with someone, a classmate, that same day, making Kimiko’s school killer theory, sadly, possible. And Jack’s parents hadn’t talked to the cops yet.

Although he heard a lot, that horrified Omi the most. The Spicers weren’t the most loving family, but Omi wanted to think that with their only son dead, maybe they’d have changed.

_Jack was right_ , Omi thought, remembering one conversation he’d overheard the dead boy and Kimiko have a couple of years back. His parents were evil.

Squinting extra hard to read the adults’ lips because their voices were inaudible now, Omi found he couldn’t cut it. He walked closer, moving along the bookshelves, but still couldn’t hear a thing.

Ms. Kang was now wiping her eyes again and Detective Young seemed satisfied with what he got because he got off his chair now and bowed before leaving with a confident strut.

Biding his time, Omi counted thirty seconds before making his way to Ms. Kang’s desk. The librarian was still distraught but, seeing Omi, she perked up and gave him a big smile.

“Hi there”, she said. “How can I help you?”

Omi politely nodded. “Good evening, Miss, I was wondering if you had any books on the history of Henan?”

“The history of…Henan”, Ms. Kang said, slowly. Blanching a little, she shook her head and smiled again. “Do you want a general history, specifics about certain regions, myths and legends, or something else entirely?”

“Uh”, Omi said, uncertainly. He didn’t hear anything about these categories when the adults were talking. “Is there something that has everything? I have an extensive report for a school project, so…”

“Oh okay, don’t worry”, Ms. Kang said. “I have a few books that sum everything up nicely, but don’t say I didn’t tell you they’re a little wordy.”

Getting up, the librarian made her way to a faraway bookshelf, with Omi following behind. She stopped and ran her fingers across a few books before hesitating and picking one out.

“Here you go”, she said, handing him the book. “Would this one do?”

_The Unabridged History of Henan_ , Omi read. Sighing, he nodded. It would have to do for now.

“But it’s”, he began, not knowing how to phrase this. ‘ _Did my dead friend read this?’_ didn’t sound too good. “I’m not the only one who’s reading it, right?”

Ms. Kang shook her head. “No, not at all. Anyone’s who’s ever had a history report or paper has read this at least once.”

Smiling a little, she whispered. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret—all of our other Henan history books have been sold to the new library so this is the only region-specific book we have here. Your report is going to be one of a kind!”

“That’s a relief, Ms.”, Omi said, truthfully. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Following Ms. Kang back to her desk to register his name and phone number, Omi spotted someone out of the corner of his eye. A middle-aged man with a mean expression etched deep into his face.

Catching the boy looking at him, the man smiled, sending goosebumps through the former. “Hi there.”

Registering the accent as being vaguely rural, Omi politely nodded at the man but said nothing back. _He has an evil sort of face_ , he found himself thinking and immediately chastised himself.

He knew that this thought only crept into his head because this man was admittedly odd, staring at him with that wide, unsettling smile. And it still wasn’t an excuse.

Omi had never liked the strange looks he’d received after moving back to his mother’s childhood town from Lagos. He never knew if they came because of his parents’ divorce or because he was one of the few mixed kids around.

Either way, Omi was never found of that treatment and he’d never repeat it. When he left the library, he made sure to smile at the man, trying as hard as he could not to flinch.

* * *

Chase never went home after the library exchange with Ms. Kang. Instead, he turned from where he came and went back to his desk at the station, ignoring the looks from his disapproving coworkers.

“You look like you found something”, Yi said, using a cup of tea he’d made him as an excuse. “What did you find?”

Chase thanked him for the tea. “You’ll know when I tell you. I need to be a hundred percent first.”

“Hey”, Yi said, looking concerned now. “You know you can ask for help, right? I don’t know how you do things in Hong Kong but here, we don’t mind an extra hand or two.”

“I appreciate it, Yi, I really do but this way, I can do my work better”, Chase insisted. “But thank you, I mean it.”

When Yi left, the detective turned back to his work. There was a lot of information here and he needed to sort it out, which meant a trip to the storage room, from which he brought an old board and some magnets.

Now was time to put two and two together. Chase began. Jack Spicer, eighteen years-old, student.

Chase couldn't talk to Jack's family or maids yet, since he was waiting for a visit from the Spicers' Lawyer George Zhao. He did, however, manage to get statements from the neighbors that day before he visited the school. According to the neighbors, Jack had left his house early in the morning but according to his teachers, he'd skipped school that day.

Jack had been spotted at several places throughout the day. Eating at a noodle shop, loitering in the big park, taking a walk in residential neighborhoods. One person even said he'd seen the victim in the parking lot of a barbecue place. Jack's last stop was now confirmed at the old library, according to Ms. Kang.

And then he was found, dead, in the abandoned Shaolin temple wearing white ceremonial robes on top of a Joker shirt tied to a wooden post, bearing knife marks, burns, and blood. No drugs but some marijuana in his system.

He died at 11:45 P.M. and was found at around 12 A.M. by a local custodian who’d smelled the growing fire. There was no DNA at the temple other than Jack’s and there were no traces of anyone near it after.

No suspicious activity and so far, no suspicious people who could have wanted Jack dead. Unless, of course, Chase was counting a few choice teenagers, which he now _officially_ was. He put them on the board too.

Omi Hui-Badejo, a former friend, was last seen talking to Jack a few days before the murder. Students who’d seen that said they looked friendly and Omi never had any fights with Jack. And anyhow, Omi had a perfect alibi supported by his parents. He was at home studying for a quiz.

The second was Tohomiko Kimiko and Chase stuck that paper to the board immediately.

Kimiko hadn’t really interacted with Jack at school at all since the start of the current school year, not counting that one incident where she shoved him into a locker while leaving class. Her alibi was that she’d been at home all day and went out at night with Liu Qiqi and Choi Bingbing at a café. Her uncle said she was home around 11 PM.

_Now for Clay Bailey_ , Chase thought, frowning as he stuck the name. There was no reliable information about Clay from the students, he knew. He kept to himself and no one had seen him physically fight Jack, except once a year ago a parent-teacher function.

Clay’s alibi was where it really got interesting, though, because while he himself said he was at home all day, the cops Chase sent to confirm the alibi with Clay’s aunt said she hesitated before agreeing.

Sighing, Chase underlined that detail on the board before moving on to the fourth student, Raimundo A. Pedrosa. According to many, many stories Raimundo was not above dedicating considerable amounts of his time terrorizing people he didn’t like, especially if they insulted him. And Jack tended to do that second thing a lot.

So far this year, Chase counted from statements, Raimundo yelled at Jack twice in the hallways and shoved him once. His alibi was that he’d had his circus training in the morning and followed that by playing football with some friends in the afternoon. From the hours of 10 to 12, though, he was unaccounted for.

“I was getting takeout”, Raimundo had told Chase on the first investigation. “It was a long line but it makes sense—best barbecue place in town.”

And yet when the cops Chase sent to the boy’s circus returned, they’d told him one of the roommates—a Valentina Correia—said Raimundo only brought home noodles that night, quickly adding that maybe he ate the barbecue at the restaurant.

Sighing once again, Chase stuck what he knew about Ms. Wong Incident on the board.

The teenagers had met up there, several eyewitnesses—including Ashley Gatz and owner Wong Chi-ling herself—said they were chatty but quiet and that Jack looked sick and anxious. No one knew what happened after the group left the ice-cream parlor but everyone saw them leave in a hurry.

Looking at his handy board, Chase sighed and once again, wished that his life were different. This was shaping up to be a horrible night and he wished he’d at least brought the file Dojo had left at his apartment to keep him company.

The next day came quicker than Chase expected, mostly because he didn’t have one clue that he’d fallen asleep. He only realized that when his coworker, Yi, lightly pushed him until he woke up.

“Hey, hey”, Yi said, pushing the sleeping detective twice. “Did you sleep here?”

Chase yawned and stretched soon after Yi stepped back. “It’s a little too early for naps. Yes, I slept here.”

“Ugh, you have a problem”, Yi said, crossing his arms. “Do you realize that?”

“Well, it’s better than showing up late.”

“Still, you don’t just sleep over at the office—you’ll make the rest of us look bad and this mess you made will make the cleaning lady scream at us all day long.”

Pausing, Yi sighed. “How about this? Go get yourself some breakfast and get me something to eat too, while I _try_ to fix some of your mess.”

“Okay”, Chase nodded, not seeing what would be wrong with fresh air. “I’ll go.”

As he passed desks and desks of overnight cops and workers, Chase discovered something interesting.

He’d had no dreams whatsoever last night and for once, he was feeling like he’d slept. Relieved, he actually felt clear-headed and, well, awake. Exhausting himself to sleep never stood right with Chase but maybe that was just what he needed now.

Another thing he needed was food and so he walked a few streets to the downtown part of town and went into a café near a skin-care and cosmetics shop and brought his and Yi’s breakfasts.

While walking away, though, he spotted Raimundo walking to the shop near the café. Taking a sip of his coffee, Chase observed through the clear windowfront as the teenager greeted the woman with the uniform inside before heading into a backroom. So, that was his part-time job.

Taking a look at his watch, Chase saw it was around 9 AM, meaning that Raimundo was done with circus practice an hour or so ago. Grabbing his phone from his pocket, the detective sent a short message to Yi telling him he’ll be late and kept watch.

By the time he was done with his portable breakfast, Chase discovered that Raimundo wasn’t only a cashier at the shop. He’d seen countless teenagers walk in and out of the shop without so much as a bar of soap and when he used his phone camera to zoom in, well, Chase saw it for himself.

When one of the teenagers approached the cashier, Raimundo would greet them with one hand in plain sight and the other holding a little bundle or folded paper, barely visible under the desk. Chase saw that and saw money exchanged and didn’t really have to read too much into it.

For some reason, seeing that sight disappointed him. He knew drugs would possibility have played into something but when he’d found no evidence leading to it, he’d been relived. Seeing this, though, sparked a few dead memories back to life.

“ _Chase, you need to listen_ ”, the detective remembered the voice as if it was yesterday. “ _You’re going to ruin your life—just fucking listen!_ ”

He hadn’t listened, of course. It had been only three weeks since the second term of senior year started and two more since winter break and Chase had been actively avoiding both Guan and Dashi.

He’d overheard both sets of parents talk extensively about the future their kids would have and he’d known that there was no place in it for him, a troubled orphan on the way to becoming a cautionary tale. And instead of directly being told to leave their lives—it was enough that Guan’s parents hinted they needed to break up—Chase decided to leave on his own.

So, he’d left school, not officially dropping out but deciding that he’d learned enough. Whatever the case was, he wouldn’t be going to college with his grades. Chase decided it was time to make his own living but he couldn’t find a job right away and most adults tried to get him to go back to school.

So, Chase found another town and found a job there with a small-town crook. And after Chase proved himself by helping the crook secure his shady dealings and playing the part of an enforcer well, his old friends had found him in his new tiny rented room.

Dashi hadn’t known how to speak to him at first, so instead he sent Guan a look. “See? I told you we’d find him here.”

“You did”, Guan said, not taking his eyes off Chase’s face. “Are you insane? We asked around—the man you’re working for is a criminal. _Look_ at your face.”

“He _is_ a criminal”, Chase had agreed, side-stepping in front of the door and shutting it behind him, locking them all outside. “I know and I don’t care.”

Seeing Guan at a loss for words, Dashi stepped up. “What happened to your face?”

“Oh, this?”, Chase asked, referring to the bruises, fresh and faded. “Just a few fights, but don’t worry I won half of them. My boss gave me a bonus, a hundred per punch.”

“And this sounds right to you?”, Guan asked, incredulously.

Chase didn’t appreciate that tone. “Yes, it’s my life now. If you’re done judging it, leave.”

“You know that’s not gonna happen, you id—”

“Guan, please”, Dashi said, calmly interrupting his friend. “We’ll leave when we get our answers.”

“Answers to what?”

“Why did you leave, for example?”, Dashi began, still annoyingly calm. “Why didn’t you wait to get your diploma to ruin your life? Why didn’t you at least call Wuya to let her know you’re leaving? Why didn’t you call _us_?”

He paused, letting worry cross over to his face. “Are you okay, Chase?”

“More than okay”, Chase immediately said, blank face on. Why did Dashi ask that question last? “And it’s none of your business what I choose to do with my life. Not yours, not Wuya’s, not anyone’s.”

“Not Wuya’s?”, Guan repeated, disgustedly. “Okay, I get that for some reason, you’re pissed at us but you don’t get to say that.”

“Oh, I don’t? W—”

“ _You_. _Don’t_ ”, Guan insisted. “That girl did everything she could for you and you know it. If you had a mother, she wouldn’t have loved you that much.”

Though he’d felt guilty at first, Chase quickly realized the second half of Guan’s words. “ _If_ I had a mother?”

Guan and Dashi seemed to realize the implication, too. The former sighed and began to apologize, but Chase cut him off.

“This is it”, Chase said, finally happy he could put a name to the tension that always existed between them. “You know, this is _exactly_ what your problem is. You two have never thought I was like you. Like the other kids in school. And you treated me differently because of it.”

“Treated you differently?”, Dashi asked. “Chase, we’re your friends.”

“Are you? You’re only my friends when we’re playing football or swimming at the river but when you invite me to your homes and insist I take your leftovers or, or money or clothes—who are you _then_?”

A pause. “You pity me.”

“That’s a pretty strange word for ‘care’”, Guan said, crossing his arms defensively. “I thought you knew that it was that—caring.”

Chase scoffed. “Caring?”

“Yes, _caring_ ”, Dashi emphasized, getting angrier and making Chase’s sadistic glee compound. “We never wanted you to feel left out because you couldn’t have things we took for granted. We wanted you to have these things because we _care_ about you, Chase—it’s kinda what friends do, dumbass.”

“You didn’t me to feel left out”, Chase began, slowly. “Or you didn’t want to be embarrassed by me?”

Although he’d always known that Dashi cared nothing for his reputation and Guan cared less and less as they grew older, Chase couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe they did care but just wouldn’t tell him.

That seemed to be the thing that did it, though, because Dashi, especially, didn’t like being questioned on his integrity. Scowling now, the boy lost his composure.

“What the _fuck_ do you think, Chase?”, Dashi yelled. “ _What_? You think I care what _fucking_ Leong Zhenzhen thinks about me because you wore shoes with holes in them for the entire eighth grade? You think I care about being popular in high school when we’re not gonna be here in a few months?!”

When Dashi was done, he’d been panting and his voice was so strained Guan tried to get him to stop his yelling.

Through all of that exhaustion, though, Dashi had a faint smirk on, disappearing and reappearing every few seconds, like he knew he’d won but didn’t want to brag about it just yet. That look pushed Chase over the edge.

“Exactly, you’re right.”

“What?”, Guan asked, sharing a confused look with Dashi.

“I said he’s right”, Chase repeated, ominously. “You’re not gonna be here in a few months. _You’re_ going to be in fucking Beijing and Dashi’s going to be wherever the fuck he wants to be, so let’s just call it a day and end it here.”

Dashi’s eyes widened, not understanding. “End it?”

“Let’s not be friends anymore”, Chase said, smiling pleasantly. “And let’s never be a part of each other’s lives, okay?”

Before Chase could open his door and walk in, an alarmed Guan grabbed his arm. “Wait. You’re just _saying_ that—”

“I’m not just saying anything”, Chase insisted, indignantly. “And don’t come here again. My boss doesn’t joke around—he could kill you if you being here annoyed him.”

And they didn’t come to visit him again. Wuya did a month after them, though. Not that Chase even opened the door that time. He’d had the sense to get a peephole installed.

“Chase, please”, Wuya had said, while knocking every few words. “It’s me, open up. I came all this way, just open the fucking door.”

Pausing every few seconds, she’d soon pick up and started knocking again. “Open the fucking door, you asshole, I know you’re in there.”

There was nothing Chase wanted to do more than to open that door and let Wuya in. He’d missed her that much. But he knew that the minute he’d let her in, he’d be boarding a bus back to their old town and he’d have to face everything and everyone he’d ran away from.

So, Chase stayed behind the door, listening to his oldest friend knock on his door. Wuya tried everything but he wouldn’t budge, and eventually even she gave up.

“I got a raise, you know”, Wuya sighed, giving up knocking at last. “Double my pay at that stupid pharmacy. That really helped my savings because..."

She paused, cursing. "I've been saving since I graduated last year because I decided I’d leave the first thing after you graduated. After you left for Beijing.”

Another pause. “You wanted to go to Beijing, remember? Well, I wanted to go back to Macau. I know I visited on the last break but I wanted to go back again. See my hometown, maybe find someone who still remembers my parents.”

After that, Wuya stopped talking. Not for a beat or anything. No, she stopped for such a long time that Chase thought she might have left. But before he could open the door to check, Wuya began again.

“I guess…I guess, there’s no point in waiting now, if this is the life you chose then you already left a long time ago. And I can’t keep waiting for you to grow up, Chase—I can’t. I’m changing my ticket dates tomorrow.”

Listening to her every word, Chase felt the sting at the corners of her eyes and almost spoke up, almost told her to not go just yet. But he controlled himself and listened to her sigh.

“Chase, I’m leaving”, Wuya said. “I don’t even know if you’re listening, but I really am leaving. I guess this is goodbye.”

A minute or two after she said her goodbyes, Chase opened his door and looked around the hallways leading to and from his room, finding no one lingering around. When he asked a few loitering neighbors about Wuya, no one had seen her. Like she vanished into thin air.

And when Chase gathered up his things—fully committed to leaving what he was now positive was a gang and not just a small-time crook-ring before it got too deep—and went back to their town, he’d discovered Wuya really vanished.

The very last time he saw her was after he was being questioned for Dashi’s death. She was gone before the memorial.

Hearing his phone ring, Chase snapped back to the present day and answered. “Yes?”

“You need to come back to the station now”, Yi was saying. “It’s urgent.”

“What I’m doing is urgent too”, Chase said, though he really was not sure. After an hour of observing, there was nearly no one walking in or out of the shop and even the suspicious teenager seemed to be taking a nap. “What happened?”

“You’ll find out when you get here.”

Sighing at the tone, Chase hung up and put his phone in his pocket. He walked back to the station in less time than it took for Yi to simmer down apparently.

But as it turned out, Yi wasn’t as angry as he sounded. No, he seemed kind of excited.

“You’re going to owe me big time”, Yi said, grinning in full. “While you were out doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing, I did you a huge favor.”

Admittedly intrigued, Chase raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You’ll see. Jun, get in here.”

Hearing his name, a rookie cop made his way to his senior’s desk and bowed. Chase nodded at him and gave Yi a questioning look.

“Show Detective Young what we got today”, Yi said, gesturing Chase to wait. “He’ll piss his pants with curiosity.”

Increasingly pensive, Chase waited for Jun to go back to his desk and come back with a zipped plastic bag, inside of which was black pocketknife covered in blood. Yi was right, this was huge news but—

“How did you—”

“Someone sent it to us”, Yi said, grinning again. “With a note saying they found it buried under a shaky tile at the temple. Obviously, they didn’t sign their names because that’s restricted site now.”

Chase allowed it. “We’ll need to get it tested for DNA, fingerprint, blood—”

“Buddy, buddy, relax”, Yi said, still happy with himself. “This is why I told you you’ll owe me—I already did all that.”

“You did? Why?”

“Well…honestly, I was curious. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Fine”, Chase said, shrugging. He’d deal with this privacy issue later. “What did the results say?”

Yi nodded before sighing. “The blood is Jack Spicer’s. And the fingerprints are Raimundo Pedrosa’s."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS:  
> -Jack will strictly appear in flashbacks  
> -this story might be more on the mystery side  
> -sadly, yes, all chapters are long


	4. Happy Birthday And By The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story moves! We're laying on the angst thick, so get ready to hate everyone just a little bit mirror. Full disclosure, this is a little shorter than the other chapters...but it's still pretty lengthy. 
> 
> Also, warnings for hallucinations, mentions of knives and violence, some mentions of child-grooming (zero details but still).

Raimundo was _really_ not having a good senior year. Sure, he’d already known it was too late for a fresh start and all. Ideally, he’d just hoped things would at least not spiral out of control.

But that only seemed to tempt fate. Things did not spiral. No, they _snowballed_ and were now rolling down, preparing to crush whatever was left of him under the weight. He _still_ couldn’t sleep, not without pills and he was _still_ an almost-suspect in a murder.

That, of course, went without mentioning how he _still_ couldn’t understand why thinking about Jack dying like that suddenly made him want to cry. He didn’t know why he’d been thinking more and more about his dead old friend and the last time he’d seen him either.

Every time Raimundo let his thoughts roam, he’d remembered how he’d punched and kicked Jack until the latter balled himself up on the ground, still cackling maniacally all the while. And when his mind really wandered, Raimundo remembered what happened after the library talk.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. Not really. The apprehension he’d had, that restless fear that never left him, was growing by the second. And all the while, he was steadily adding names to the list of people treating him like chewed cardboard.

Everything sucked, Raimundo knew. Everything and every place in this town felt tense and uncomfortable. Even the air was hard to breathe. And it felt like it was about to get even worse.

Maybe the college people would call him to say he’d lost the scholarship? Or maybe the consequences of his own actions would finally catch up with him, who knew? It seemed like some people were certainly set on uncovering things he’d rather stayed—

 _No, nope_ , Raimundo thought, forcefully shutting his eyes. Counting six seconds, he opened his eyes again, straightened his posture and walked into the school building.

It was a new day and the week was only starting. And thinking about that, of all things, now was going to make things worse. For once, Raimundo was relieved he’d had other problems to worry about. Like the girl standing by his locker.

With his regular smirk already in place, Raimundo walked to his locker and realized a few things.

He probably needed to _not_ avoid thinking about Kimiko because if he hadn’t, he’d have remembered her hair had recently singed ends.

How didn’t he connect that with the gasoline smell and whatever it was she was trying to find, he had no idea. But then again, when it came to Kimiko, Raimundo’s brain short-circuited. That was one thing he was positively sure of.

There was another fact he was certain of and couldn’t really avoid facing right now. Not when it’s been so clarified it was basically see-through. She hated him. She definitely hated him. And split his heart in half to show him that.

 _What am I thinking_ , Raimundo thought now. _I already knew she never cared_. But then again, not caring wasn’t the same as hating someone.

No, hating someone meant you weren’t above using them. It meant you weren’t above dressing up and pretending like you cared. It meant you weren’t above hooking up with them, waiting till they fell asleep, and weirdly ransacked their home after. On their _birthday_. It meant you weren’t above making sure you stared them in the eye before you left, without a word.

But that was Raimundo’s fault alone. He was the one that stupidly pretended that maybe, just _maybe_ , Kimiko did care and didn’t want to show it. That she didn’t know how to show it.

If that was the case, he would have understood. He wouldn’t have even dwelled on it and he wouldn’t have felt like the ‘ _cheese fell of his cracker’_ , like a friendlier Clay would have said.

But he wasn’t about to show that. His smirk gave way into a smile. “Hi.”

“Hey”, Kimiko said, shifting her glare from his face to the curious students lurking near them. When the glare dimmed, her nervousness appeared. “So last night…I just wanted to say I—like, I can explain that.”

“Can you?”, Raimundo quirked an eyebrow. When he’d stopped wallowing in misery, he’d suspected something was up. She did pull his hair and kissed him afterwards—even _she_ wasn’t that weird. “I’d love to hear it.”

“… _Really_?”

“Why not?”

Kimiko scoffed and rolled her eyes. Guiltily, she could tell he was upset but this still wasn’t an opportunity she was about to miss.

“Because I’ve never said the words ‘let me explain’ to you without you immediately shutting me down? I did _not_ meet you yesterday, Rai.”

“See? This sense of humor is _exactly_ why I dated you”, Raimundo sarcastically said, barely noticing the nickname. “And if you met me yesterday, maybe you’d have been at bit subtle with the sexy Femme Fatale act.”

“ _Femme Fatale_?”, she scoffed. The explanation could wait. “Your ego just won’t let a thing go, will it? That was a moment of _misguidedness_ —I just thought since it was your last birthday here, I’d do something for you and—”

Raimundo raised an eyebrow. Well, if she wasn’t committed. “You’re right. It’s an ego thing; but it’s _your_ ego because you can’t let it go.”

As he paused, he added a pitying look. “You had to prove to yourself that me rejecting you the other day was a fluke and that you could get me if you really wanted to.”

“ _So_ not the point”, Kimiko said, crossing her arms, face rigid now. That was not fair. “I had my reasons and if you don’t believe them, then that’s on you.”

“Yeah? But I _still_ rejected you”, Raimundo said, still smiling. He made sure his tone was especially pleasant. Poison, he’d learned, had to be poured gently. “And I don’t want to say you came begging but…you kinda did.”

Neither said anything for a while after that, so Raimundo shrugged and prepared to leave. If she didn’t already hate him, she _definitely_ did now. But why should he care? What she did was bad but it got _worse_ when put into context of everything she already knew about him.

Seeing his smiling face and then his back as he turned to leave, Kimiko discovered that she couldn’t do it.

She could not really be diplomatic about this situation. She’d planned to explain, she really did, but she couldn’t get the words out. That was the second day in a row.

Last night, when he’d opened his eyes after she took her lips off Raimundo’s forehead, Kimiko couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She couldn’t remember her words so she’d shrugged and left.

And after leaving, she’d felt the worst she’d ever felt about herself. What was she _thinking_ doing something like that? That kind of thing only worked in movies. Her theory had been so clear-cut but movie-type-espionage still wasn’t warranted in real life, not matter how much of a good idea she’d thought it was.

Raimundo’s behavior might have been dubious at times, but he would have never thought about doing what she did. Neither would _anyone_ she knew, probably. Kimiko didn’t like thinking about whether he deserved that or not, though.

Whenever she remembered the look he got once he understood, shocked and pained yet strangely resigned as if he’d expected it, she felt her throat constrict enough to know that he didn’t deserve that.

Then, right after she left, Kimiko couldn’t just shake it off and walk away. Everything came back whenever she closed her eyes:

Ms. Wong’s, the river, dead Jack, a fanatic murderer on the loose, being with her old friends in the same room again, that _river_ , Clay storming off, Omi’s murder diagram, the murder possibly being one of the boys, _the_ _river_ , the photo in the memory box, and the disappointed look on Raimundo’s face.

Those images never left her. They were always at the back of her mind, so vividly, and didn’t let go until she lit up something else at the junkyard.

Right now, though, everything, including that look, was forgotten. How did he even _dare_ say what he said when he knew all there was to know about her?

Kimiko kept her tone flat. “You’re a pathetic asshole, but what else is new?”

Ever petty, Raimundo stopped walking and turned to retort. “Your kleptomania, you weirdo. Yeah, _surprise_ —I knew!”

Pausing, he scoffed. “So, what was your thought process behind that? _Please_ , tell me. Did you think I wouldn’t hear you going through my stuff?”

Hearing that jolted Kimiko. Her face froze and she was pretty sure he could see the shock etched onto it.

Even as she cussed him out, Kimiko had been trying to pretend this conversation was still on the vaguely-normal side because neither said it wasn’t. Like this was still a vengeful confrontation about her trying to sneak away the way she did.

And now… _now_ , it was three times as serious. Forget that sad look, forget the sadder picture in his drawer, Raimundo knew what she’d been doing and that, well, that was not good.

That realization made Kimiko feel something she hadn’t felt in some time. Discomfort. On one hand, she was hurt by his insisting that he consciously rejected her. She also felt guilty for using him the way she did. That, of course, went without mentioning her belligerent nervousness about him possibly being a twisted murderer.

All those emotions melted together into that ultimate sense of discomfort that made her feel ill. And because she was Kimiko, that discomfort made her brain naturally go to the next worst scenario.

If Raimundo _did_ kill Jack and hatched up that Reddit-diversion and _she_ knew that and he knew she knew, would he be currently planning her murder next? Would she be the next person in white robes on a stake with one ear cut off? 

_No_ , Kimiko immediately thought. Taking a look at the tall boy standing in front her, she almost laughed at the ridiculousness of that notion.

 _He wouldn’t do that_. Not to anyone, but especially not to _her_. They’d been through too much. Even if they weren’t together like that, he still meant something to her.

Didn’t she mean something to him? No, Kimiko didn’t want to know the answer to that question. Did she _stop_ meaning something to him after last night? _No_ , she didn’t want to know the answer to that either.

 _He just wouldn’t do that to me_ , she thought again, this time a little nervously. _Would he_? Their whole group had been through a lot together, not just Kimiko and Raimundo. And if he could kill _Jack_ like that then—

“Kimiko”, Raimundo said, snapping her out of her thoughts. A look of concern disturbed his conceited expression as he walked over to her again. “You look like you’re gonna pass out. You’re not on round two of off-brand painkiller addiction, are you?”

Hearing that, she automatically scoffed. It was just like him to bring that rumor up when it’d been years.

“ _Fuck off_. And I _was_ snooping, okay? But only because I was curious—you keep a lot of things you say you don’t like anymore.”

With that said like that, neither spoke for a while. They both knew she was talking about the items in the memory-box, even if she didn’t specifically mention it. Especially that photograph.

Shoulders tense, Raimundo opened his mouth to speak but Kimiko interrupted, finally finding her rhythm.

“I almost forgot—eat shit at the match later today. I hope one of the kids on the other team breaks _both_ your legs.”

“The match, yeah”, Raimundo said a second too late, seemingly caught off-guard. Was that _still_ on?

He’d assumed the match was cancelled because of the circumstances but he’d ignored every group-chat notification from the past week so he wasn’t sure. And maybe it was still cancelled. Kimiko never really kept up with the school’s sports scene.

But if, for some unconceivable reason, that match wasn’t cancelled, then he was _fucked_.

Raimundo was already aware of everything he’d kept in his backpack and now, well, it all felt heavier than it ever was. It was just his luck he got paranoid about Wuya searching through his things today.

Clearing his throat, Raimundo leaned into a wall for support. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Kimiko’s curious expression. _Great_ , now his knees were giving out to panic.

“So I said some shitty things”, he began, like he hadn’t been three seconds away from falling. “And you did some horrible things and I know things aren’t the best between us right now—”

Kimiko shrugged. “They never were.”

“Right”, Raimundo agreed. “Not for a long time, but, uh…well, um, I don’t know if I should even say this but I—no, never mind.”

“What is it?”, Kimiko asked, concerned now.

Call it a curse, but knowing Raimundo for this long meant knowing whenever he was worried. His mouth twitched. And right now, it was doing jumping jacks. With everything going on, that couldn’t be good for either one of them or for Clay and Omi.

When he didn’t answer, she prodded.

“If it’s anything I can help you with, you know you should just ask me, right? And if it’s something you want to say or, like, _confess_ …I won’t tell anyone.”

 _Smooth_ , Kimiko thought, doing everything to not slap her forehead for her own stupidity. Why not just _ask_ him if he murdered Jack at this point? It was only lucky that Raimundo didn’t seem to fully grasp her tone.

“Confess _what_ , girl?”, Raimundo said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Does this look like a CSI episode to you? Is Ice-T gonna appear soon?”

Glaring before she lost composure, Kimiko snorted. “That’s Law and Order, _stupid_.”

Not having it, he fixed her with a glare but, naturally, she didn’t back down and responded with another glare of her own. The ridiculousness didn’t last all that long, though. Soon enough the stifled laughter came out in little bursts.

“You’re an _idiot_ ”, Raimundo said, chuckling a little before clearing his throat. “But, no, seriously, I need a favor.”

Kimiko sucked back her smile and took a step back, realizing she might have gotten too close while they were laughing. “It depends.”

“I just need you to keep something for me”, he said. “In your bag. If there’s security at the match today, I’m _fucked_ and I have a scholarship.”

“Here you go”, she said, trying not to stutter or break her poker face. Even though she wanted to ask, she couldn’t push out the words ‘what’ and ‘why’.

For some reason, Raimundo was trusting her with this…whatever it was. And she couldn’t break that fragile trust now, if she wanted to eventually see what he was hiding. Her mind went through all possibilities.

The most likely thing was that he was going to show her what she couldn’t find at the train car. But why, she couldn’t exactly tell. Another possibility crept to her mind. Raimundo could use that as a threat.

Kimiko watched warily as Raimundo took her backpack and zipped it open and did the same with his own.

He handed her his own to hold and took out a few things from it. Some pill containers, a white all-too-familiar notepad, and a few small bundles.

Seeing this, Kimiko stopped holding her breath. “ _This_ is what you’re afraid of getting caught with?”

“Yes”, Raimundo said, giving her a look like she was five years-old. “I’ve been told no one should have that amount of Adderall and while we all love weed, security guards don’t.”

Peering into her face, he raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was gonna give you? A knife?”

“No, of course not”, Kimiko lied, rolling her eyes. Before the guilt got to her, she added. “Since I’m holding your Prescription Slip empire in my bag, can _I_ ask for a favor?”

“You sound like you’re gonna do it anyway.”

“I am”, she said. “I’ll want you to come somewhere with me. And you can’t ask any questions.”

He sighed. “Sure, this isn’t how we got roped with Dyris or anything.”

Although she was more than half-sure he was being sarcastic, Kimiko didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. Hearing that name out loud never sat well with her. It used to make Omi zone out of reality for hours, too, until Dr. Jin finally got in.

“ _Come on! What’s the worst that could happen?_ ”, a fourteen year-old Kimiko was saying. “ _She’s so cool—come on, she pierced my nose for_ free _…with her_ own _gun—look!_ ”

Kimiko hadn’t been the only person that wanted to hang out with Dyris, though. _Everyone_ thought she was cool.

Clay couldn’t stop talking about how pretty she was, even if it seemed forced in hindsight. Jack couldn’t stop comparing her to Mystique and kept talking about how cool she was and how she’d had her own piercing guns and—according to him, one _real_ gun.

Omi, too, had loved the attention she gave him. Even Raimundo, who didn’t respect an adult who wasn’t Wuya, was starstruck.

And because they were fourteen and impressionable—and Omi was ten and followed them everywhere—they’d naturally flocked to Dyris. She wore cut-off tank-tops that showed her belly-button ring and she had a mermaid tattoo on her thigh and she was easily the coolest person they’d ever seen in their little town.

She’d ask them to give certain people herbal medicine and they’d do it, no questions asked. And she’d ask them to visit some people and they’d do it too. But it didn’t just stop at that. No.

When Dyris asked Kimiko and Jack for money, they’d find ways to sneak off bills from their guardians’ wallets. When Dyris asked Raimundo Marco’s car keys, he found a way to get them. When she asked Clay to hide that poison for her, he did.

And when Omi discovered her real name was actually Cheung Taki, well, she found a way to convince him not to tell. _You’re my favorite, you know_ —that was what she said to convince them she cared.

The end result to the blood bath and the suspicion was six dead people and a lifetime of trauma for the kid accomplices. All because Kimiko wanted her friends to hang out with the cool girl that pierced her nose for free in the grocery store’s parking lot.

Kimiko didn’t like remembering that at all. _Cheung Taki_ , she’d said when Detective Young asked her, _was a predator, a manipulator of the worst kind_. She was the worst memory anyone could have.

Shutting her eyes momentarily now, she sighed. “I can _promise_ it’s not gonna be half as bad.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you were pulling my hair?”, Raimundo said, shrugging. “If it does, let me save you the trouble, Miss Sherlock. I didn’t do shit that I don’t already do—”

She cut him off. “I never said you did _anything_. Don’t fucking put words in my mouth.”

“Kimiko, you’re _not_ a good liar. I knew something was up the minute you knocked on my door smelling like a fucking bonfire.”

She had nothing to say to that. He was right to suspect something was up. There were some people she just couldn’t lie to, herself included…but something didn’t add up here.

“So”, Kimiko began, staring him in the eye. She quirked an eyebrow now. “If you already knew then why did you let me in?”

Caught in that staring game, Raimundo took a few seconds to process what she said before he shook his head and gave an exaggerated scoffed.

“Does that _matter_ now? I don’t have to do anything for you. You used me, now I’m using you. We’re even. _Entende_? And don’t smoke it all.”

Although he walked away right before she could talk back, Kimiko would have been lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. At least one mystery was slowly being solved.

Seeing his cousin and her ex-boyfriend whisper-talk in public, a slow-walking Omi had only three thoughts.

One, even though he was only a ninth-grader, he was fed-up with high school drama— _Kaicheng and Qingzi seemed to think they were the next Xiaoyu and Kun_ \- as if!—and couldn’t wait till it stopped.

The second was that it’d been _twenty-three whole hours_ since he’d had any sleep. He was already walking like his feet had a stutter and he was positive that the lights weren’t flickering on and off that rapidly.

And third, and most interesting of all, it seemed like Kimiko was talking to Raimundo about something important. She tended to use her hands a lot if the conversation mattered to her and it clearly did now.

 _Interesting_ , Omi thought. But was it interesting enough to follow either one of those two around?

Sighing, he shook his head and looked at his phone. Twenty minutes till his first class started. Perfect, he thought as he sat on a bench.

He could waste nineteen of those, so he could avoid everyone’s accusatory looks. Right now, he had more important things on his plate. Specifically a large history book he’d needed to check out.

Even though, Omi had returned home around 11 that night, he’d had no time to read any of it.

His mother and Uncle Tadashi had returned home early and had figured out that Omi went out on his own late at night. And since Kimiko’s room was locked, the adults had thought Omi had left her sleeping and snuck out behind her back.

“You can’t go out late at night like that”, Jinglei, his mom, was all but yelling last night. “You’ve seen the news—you _went_ to the memorial. There’s a killer on the loose! Do you not think about the consequences at all? _Answer me, Omi_!”

Of course, that’d been code for ‘ _don’t answer or else_ ’ so Omi didn’t fall for it, opting instead to look at the floor like it was particularly interesting.

Selfishly, he couldn’t help but wonder how different this conversation would have been if he’d been having it with his father, Ade. Omi knew that his dad would understand this need to find out the truth; he understood his tiger instincts.

Omi couldn’t say that, of course, so he kept silent as his mother confiscated his phone and his laptop (which he’d only get back for homework) and going out privileges.

And even if he could have protested, Omi wouldn’t have. He didn’t need internet right now. At this moment, the only thing Omi needed was to figure out what Jack’s research was about and who the last person who’d seen him was.

 _Some questions are harder to answer than others_ , Omi thought, bemusedly. He’d stayed up all night trying to pinpoint just who Jack’s mysterious ‘friend’ was so he could add it to the Kimiko-named ‘murder Venn diagram’, but that wasn’t an easy process.

“Jack, well, Jack was a bit of a loner”, Omi remembered telling Detective Young when he was getting interrogated. “When he stopped hanging out with us, he only hanged out with Ashley and Shadow. He didn’t like most people.”

Well, that had clearly changed because Jack was expanding his social circle to possibly include fanatic psychopaths. Omi shook his head. He needed to think more about this after he’d gotten some sleep.

Sighing, Omi took out The Unabridged History of Henan from his backpack and took one look at the cover before casually flipping through it. It didn’t seem like a very interesting book, but it was probably because anything history-related bored him.

Gritting his teeth, Omi flipped through the book’s introduction again, slowly and more deliberately.

He had to find clues as to what Jack could have possibly been reading. But before he could, Omi suddenly heard a voice, a chuckle that wouldn’t have bothered him if he hadn’t recognized it.

“Munchkin”, he heard Jack’s voice say, dangerously close. “If you don’t stop the Nancy Drew act, you’re going to loosen even _more_ screws out of your head.”

 _No, that can’t be right_ , Omi thought, shaking it off. Although he’d scoffed at the idea, he still focused on regulating his increased breaths now.

“Wow, you’re really gonna _ignore_ me? You can’t do that”, the same voice said with the kind of boom that told him this wasn’t a memory. “I’m here and I’m sure as _fuck_ you can see me.”

Instinctively, Omi turned and looked at where the voice came from. Just as he’d predicted, sitting next to him was Jack Spicer, looking like the last time anyone had seen him.

His hair was re-dyed his usual Firetruck Red and he was wearing white robes over sweatpants and a Joker shirt. He had blood all over his face, a black eye, and a missing ear. Omi didn’t flinch, although he wanted to.

Faintly, he remembered how long he’d been awake. Yesterday, he woke up at 8 A.M. and hadn’t slept since. And right now it was 7:42 A.M.

If Dr. Jin were here, Omi knew he’d tell him this was a combination of him missing Jack, feeling mixed grief and anger, and _severely_ lacking sleep.

But his seven-session therapist wasn’t here, so Omi shrugged. “I missed you.”

Jack smiled and now Omi tried not to flinch. Even as a hallucination, a smiling Jack seemed menacing.

“I’d say same here but you know I’m in a better place. Honestly, you losers call this living? Wait till you hear—”

“You can’t tell me who killed you, can you?”

“That’s not how this works, no”, Ghost Jack said, shrugging.

Omi pursed his lips. “Well, I’m going to get you justice, Jack. You and Huang Dashi, too, if I can help it. Kimiko told me your murders were different and there’s this whole serial killer fan theory but—but I still think there’s…something more connecting you two togeth—"

“Omi”, Ghost Jack interrupted, holding up a hand that was also dripping blood. “You shouldn’t do that. Don’t meddle.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You deserve justice.”

Ghost Jack sighed. “Have you seen how I was killed? Have you seen how the cops are all over you and the others? This is dangerous.”

“So?”, Omi countered, stubbornly. “I can’t let a murderer walk around free.”

The figment of his imagination gave him a look. “You’re _fourteen_.”

“So were you at some point”, the younger boy said. “So was Kimiko, so was Clay, so was Raimundo—but that never mattered. We always did stupid, dangerous shit!”

Neither spoke for some time until the Jack hallucination pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, and the point is we always got the short end of the stick in the end, you idiot!”

Sighing, Ghost Jack added, “I’m not gonna convince you to quit this, am I?”

“Nope.”

A pause. “You could try to help me, though.”

“…Omi, I’m a hallucination. _Your_ hallucination.”

“Yeah”, Omi said, shrugging. “But you’re a collection of things I never knew I was aware of so you’re going to be a goldmine.”

He paused, before beginning again. “And you—”

Before he could say anything, though, a familiar cough interrupted sentence. When Omi looked up, he saw Clay, a concerned expression on his face.

“Who are you talking to, partner?”

Omi blinked. “Myself. I do that, sometimes.”

“Good, so you’re…good?”, Clay asked, uncertainly. With Omi, no one was ever sure of the version of the story they were hearing.

Looking at his former friend, Omi now raised an eyebrow. Clay looked weird today. He was already breaking dress-code with the cowboy hat he always wore but today, it seemed like Clay was breaking one of his own codes. He was wearing regular sneakers instead of boots.

Taking a look at the cowboy’s face again, the younger boy saw a shift in his expression. Clay had been concerned before but now it just looked like he was being forced to stand here and have this conversation. That’d also been his face in the circus, the other day.

“I don’t know how I forgot that constipated look”, Ghost Jack said, as Omi ignored him. “Last time I saw it he was getting yelled at by Mr. Jeong for playing Goo Zombies on his phone in class—you _had_ to be there!”

“You don’t need to worry about me”, Omi said, shrugging as the figment of his imagination scoffed and loudly begged to differ. “I’m fine, Clay. I’m always fine. And I know you don’t want to talk to me so you don’t have to.”

Clay sighed. Omi was stubborn as an ox when it came to holding grudges and it seemed like he was beginning to have one now.

“I’m not gonna say I’m sorry I stormed out the other day”, he began, apologetically. “That was poor manners but you wanted us to be the Scooby Squad and you called Velma.”

Omi narrowed his eyes, unyielding. “I mean, I wasn’t suggesting we play-act like we used to. I was suggesting we find out who murdered our _friend_ in cold blood and you were the _first_ to say no.”

Ghost Jack scoffed. “Easy on the blame game, munchkin.”

“Really?”, Clay said, rolling his eyes at the freshman. For two people who weren’t blood-related, Omi and Kimiko seemed to share the same gene for coercing people into things and guilting them if they refused.

Taking a breath, the older teenager cleared his anger. He had to remember he was not here to squabble with a fourteen year-old whom he just caught talking to himself. No, Clay was here because he was doing the right thing.

“Why are you acting like Kimiko and Raimundo agreed to join your little band?”, Clay said, unable to help himself. “Because you’re acting like they jumped at the opportunity and I’m the _only_ one who said no. Like, I didn’t need to be there to _know_ they’d say no.”

He paused, now exhaling his exasperation.

“In fact, partner, lemme tell you what exactly they said. One of them probably said it was dangerous and the other one probably mentioned juvie.”

Another pause. “And then they probably made up some excuse to get you to leave so they could suck face because _that’s_ what they do, you know—trust me, I know them three like the back of my hand and you pretending like they’d listen when—”

“You said three”, Omi interrupted, looking the cowboy in the eye. Admittedly, he’d been blocking out everything he said because it stung but that part pierced his ears, loud and clear. “You know that?”

Giving the younger teenager a look, Clay sighed. “ _Look_ , the point I’m trying to make here is I’m on your side, Omi, but I don’t appreciate the way you’re doing things. Okay? Just _know_ _that_. Don’t spiral.”

Before Omi could say anything, though, Clay readjusted his hat and left him standing alone.

So that makes two out three, Omi thought. One more for the complete strike. He could only hope he was reading the white cowboy correctly, though. As vague as he was being, Clay didn’t exactly leave Omi reassured.

And Kimiko, too, was naturally tough to figure out. His cousin had left home last night without telling Omi what she thought of his plan to look for Jack’s killer, even if she offered theories. She hadn’t returned until early this morning when she snuck back in, so he couldn’t confirm anything with her.

“I’m not indulging this, but if you want to be sure they’re with you”, Ghost Jack said, announcing himself like he’d just crept out of Omi’s mind. “You know as well as I do _who_ you’ll need to get on your side.”

Omi sighed, already calling it. “Raimundo.”

“Mr. Queen Bee!”, Ghost Jack agreed, yelling as Omi rubbed his temples before throwing a glare. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Avatar Aang—you know he’s basically their pied piper. You get him on your side, he’ll get the others.”

The hallucination paused. “He’ll probably blackmail them into it, you know. If you knew _how_ _much_ he knew about Clay’s fam—"

“I can’t talk to him now”, Omi interrupted, looking back at his phone’s watch. Time was running out. “I have to read some of this book before class. Clues, remember?”

Ghost Jack groaned. “Right. You have to solo it first before you realize you need them.”

“No, I have to solo it first so they can see they need m—so they’ll help me”, Omi said, quickly covering up his slip. How did he manage to ruin a conversation with his own imagination? “I _need_ to do this.”

“Talking to yourself, Omi?”, a sickly sweet voice said prompting him to look up. Now that he did, he could clearly see Ashley walking with Shadow and stopping just before they passed him.

Sizing him up, Ashley sighed and Omi was struck by how much she’d changed over the past few days. The cat-ears headband stayed but her face looked tired and there bags under her eyes now.

“Must be the guilt”, she said, like she knew everything in the world. “It eats at you like that.”

Attempting a smile next to her girlfriend, Shadow shrugged and Omi noticed her presence. Although she’d always been around like a menacing ghost, Shadow seemed quieter somehow. Omi remembered seeing her cry at the memorial and embarrassedly looking away. He did the same now.

Sadly, that seemed to give her the impression that Ashley was right. Letting go of the other girl’s hand, Shadow gave him an analytical look.

“You could always confess to ease the load, you know. To do the right thing. My father happens to know the lead detective well so I can tell him to arrange something.”

A pause. Her analytical gaze fell and she cleared her throat, reminding Omi when she was just Alisha, the new kid who asked Kimiko where the bathroom was on the first day. The same Alisha who sometimes hanged out with them after school and gushed to his mom about her _heavenly_ crystal cakes.

“Come on, Omi”, Shadow said, tone admonishing. “You’re not as bad as the rest of those monsters, I know that. You only got roped in with them. _No_ _one_ will blame you if you talk.”

Another pause. She was not relenting now.

“It’s not like you’re ten anymore, now you can actually _do_ something about it. They went too far this time and we both know it. It’s not your fault, specifically—I know that. But silence _is_ compliance.”

Third pause. This time, Ashley spoke, dialing up the pleas. “Think about _Jack_ , Omi. Think about him. Did he deserve this? Think about—”

Before she could finish in her unusually toned-down voice, Ashley was interrupted by one person Omi did not expect to see, mostly because he’d seen him walk away ten minutes ago. The Queen Bee.

“If you’re done bullying the ninth-grader”, Raimundo cut in, with a raised eyebrow and a good-natured smile. “I’m gonna take it from here. _Omi_.”

Glancing at both girls before he slipped off the bench and out of the odd huddle, Omi hurriedly walked the hallway.

He didn’t wait to hear the rest of Shadow’s sharp retorts, to his former friend—among which the lightest word was ‘ _killer’_. He couldn’t even wait to see Raimundo. Omi could hear him scoff, though, before he jogged to reach him.

“Whatever class you have”, Raimundo began, sarcastically. “It’s not worth walking that fast, _trust_ _me_.”

At that, Omi stopped in his tracks. “Should I?”

“Uh…what?”

“Should I trust you”, the younger boy said. “Because the last time I asked you to do the same thing, you refused.”

Raimundo raised an eyebrow. So, _that’s_ what this was about. “Well, we’re not talking about the same thing. I’m talking about class, you’re talking about having a death wish.”

“He’s gotta a point there”, Ghost Jack said, again reminding Omi of his presence. He’d stayed suspiciously silent while Shadow verbally cornered him. “This _is_ a death wish.”

Omi wasn’t feeling it. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”, Raimundo asked, sounding so incredulous he nearly laughed. “The _fuck_ you say to me?”

“I wasn’t talking to you”, Omi retorted before immediately realizing he shouldn’t have done so. “Never mind.”

In the midst of Ghost Jack’s sadistically gleeful laughter, Raimundo sighed and shut his eyes before opening them again, as if he sent a silent prayer to the powers that be.

“Omi, tell me the truth”, he began. “Are you seeing those little delusions of yours again?”

“Your what?”, Ghost Jack asked, caught off-guard and stopping in his tracks, like Omi did. “Delusions? Omi, c’mon, I’m not even your _first_ active hallucination—you really know how to piss on a dude’s afterlife, don’t you?”

Even though he’d tried ignoring the figment of his imagination at first, Omi only succeeded now.

Now, he was driven by anger. He was never the most normal kid in the room and he knew it. After switching schools, though, things were different. Omi had been normal here until he wasn’t. Until the wonderful adventures he and his friends went on turned ugly.

Like his mother, Omi never liked admitting when things got too hard for him to handle, though. So when he’d started seeing things, people who were not there, he’d kept quiet. Until he couldn’t.

He didn’t like anyone knowing that story. And only three people knew that story. It wasn’t that big of a surprise. Kimiko never kept a secret that wasn’t her own.

“She told you about that”, Omi calmly said, despite his growing anger. “Didn’t she?”

Raimundo sighed. “That’s not the point—”

“It is now”, Omi said, seething. “I don’t babble off about her issues to my ex-boyfriends. That’s not her r—”

Snapping his fingers right in front of the boy’s eyes, Raimundo refocused the conversation.

“Hey, _hey_ , I don’t give two shits about your family drama. Just go back to your meds if you’re taking any, avoid Ashley and Shadow, and don’t put your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong. Okay?”

“But I—”

“I know it sounded like a question, but I was not asking. _Okay_?”

“Okay”, Omi said, slowly before taking a breath. “I just want to say something, then.”

Teeth grit, Raimundo allowed it. “What?”

“You’re going to regret it”, Omi said, matter-of-factly.

“Regret…yelling at you. Why? Are you planning something, little man?”

“No and it’s not about that”, Omi said, now crossing his arms. Here went nothing, according to Jack’s very persistent ghost. “You’re going to regret not searching for Jack’s killer because you’ll be denying him justice. Can you live with that?”

Raimundo took a second too long to answer. “Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

“No”, the older boy said, smirking. For a split second, Omi thought he looked nervous. “I’m not because here’s the thing—I do not care. _At_ _all_.”

Omi couldn’t believe the audacity. Raimundo could be careless when he wanted to. Heavens knew he could even be evil, but Omi had never thought he’d hear him say this out loud.

For a long time, everyone in their former group excused Raimundo’s behavior. Clay would sometimes say that their friend didn’t mean that awful thing he said or did, more to himself than anything, and Kimiko would sometimes agree.

Most times, though, she’d agree with Jack. Because like Ghost Jack was saying now, Real Jack sometimes said this. “He cares. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You do”, Omi repeated, looking Raimundo in the eye. “But that’s not the issue. If we don’t solve Jack’s murder, who will?”

The older boy groaned. “I can’t believe _I’m_ saying this but…the cops.”

Omi gave him a look. “Fuck the cops. They’re _prejudiced_ and they can’t solve their own cases. The only time they solved anything was when they followed us around. They won’t cut it.”

“Oh, so someone finally took that blindfold off your eyes?”, Raimundo said, as if he’d been expecting that. He shrugged. “That’s good but here’s the thing, Omi—I really don’t care what will happen as long as I’m in Rio getting my college degree.”

A pause. “Don’t fuck it up.”

With those final words, Omi was left alone as he watched his former friend leave. For the first time in a while, Ghost Jack had stopped talking.

As he stood next to the door of his class, Clay sighed. He just had to talk to Omi first thing in the morning, didn’t he?

Why did he do that? He knew that was the same Omi who doled out looks so judgmental they’d put his Granny Lilly’s glares to shame.

 _Just like his cousin_ , Clay gruffly thought. It was always attack first, ask question later with the Hui-Tohomiko cousins and Clay knew it. The one exception so far was that it seemed like Omi was becoming more powerful than Kimiko when it came to guilt-trips.

Considering the possibility, Clay let himself imagine what that same conversation would have been like if he were having it with Kimiko. Five seconds after, he shuddered. _No_ , that was _not_ pleasant by a mile.

The truth was, Clay was already having the worst day without any tongue-in-cheek lectures, guilt-trips, or horribly imagined scenarios.

Yesterday, after he’d finally managed to scour all images of blood out of his head, Clay failed to purge the memories of Jack and the last he’d seen of him, when he left with Raimundo that night.

He was positive now and he didn’t have to fret to know that that all the dread he’d felt was for a good reason. Letting them go when he knew something was _wrong_ was probably the worst thing he’d done to Jack, Clay knew.

 _No_ , the boy corrected himself. Not listening to him when he came to his locker was the ultimate worst thing. He’d been up all night trying to pin down that name that escaped him, after all. Resentment really was one hell of a drug.

Resentment made Clay ignore Jack and all his attempts at talking to him after he was hospitalized in Year Nine for bulimia. Resentment made Clay hate Jack and despise Raimundo and loathe Kimiko even more.

And Clay didn’t even notice it happening, not really. All he knew was one day, he started hating himself and his body more.

He started hating his clothes and how they were too snug on him and how his words sounded and how he stuttered when too many people looked at him. He stopped eating but then he ate again but then he’d throw up or force himself to do that.

Of all the things he hated, though, Clay especially hated it when Raimundo looked his way because he knew a sharp joke-that-was-not-a-joke would soon follow, especially if the boy was playing nice. And that Kimiko would laugh in that exaggerated, stupid way of hers and added fuel to the fire, like the expert arsonist she was.

And then Jack would laugh too. Even if it didn’t start out that way. Even if Raimundo’s jokes made the redhead freeze and frown at first before he gradually began to laugh at them and then make his own jokes too.

Eventually, even Clay himself started laughing at these jokes to avoid being shut out. But that, as he willed himself to think at this moment, didn’t matter now.

That was middle school. And right now, what mattered was finding out who killed Jack Spicer and graduating high school so he’d be able to get out of this town. In _that_ order.

Right now, Clay reluctantly allowed himself to think, he had to know why he’d told Omi he knew those three like the back of his hand when there were only two of them left and he knew it.

But did he? Sighing, Clay thought back to what Patrick had told him this morning, when he’d woken up adamant on getting his cousin to deal with his grief.

“Some people say”, Patrick was saying, interrupting Clay’s train of thought about the Han-Wan-Something name he still couldn’t remember. “That you have to let it all out. And I don’t mean crying, but you could do that if you want—Uncle Abel isn’t here, y’know.”

When Clay said nothing, his cousin added, “They’re saying you should list down all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t to the person you lost.”

Naturally, Clay’s response to that was a loud snort and an eye-roll as he told Patrick, once and for all, that he didn’t really care about Jack like that anymore.

But now that he was alone, with just his thoughts and a put-upon chemistry teacher droning on in class, Clay seriously considered the question: What would he say to Jack Spicer, if given the chance?

‘ _You goddamn asshole’_ , Clay supposed, would be on the top of his list. And so would its wonderful add-on. ‘ _Couldn’t you just have stayed home?_ ’.

Other than those two sentences, Clay knew there was, well, _a_ _lot_ he wanted to say.

‘ _You made me hate myself, you know_ ’ was there and so was, ‘ _Raimundo started it but you never finished it. You always took his side—why did you take his side?_ ’ And ‘ _did it hurt when they let you go too?_ ’, ‘ _were you so lonely it sometimes felt like there was a hole in your stomach?_ ’

Looking out of the window, Clay gave up all hope of pretending to focus on the board now. Mr. Shang wouldn’t mind, he knew—that man hated him.

‘ _Why didn’t you ever try to apologize?_ ’, the cowboy found himself thinking again, unable to stop. ‘ _Did you know your parents chose that photo you hate for the memorial?_ ’, _‘I still have the t-shirt’_ , and ‘ _why did you_ let _there be something to apologize for?_ ’.

‘ _You never listened, you know—why didn’t you ever listen? Aren’t best friends supposed to do that?_ ’. ‘ _Did you really like Raimundo more than you liked me? Did you like_ Kimiko _more than you liked me?_ ’, and ‘ _I should have listened to, I know’_.

‘ _I wanted to be like you and I didn’t, it was confusing_ ’, ‘ _no, I never liked you-liked you but I knew_ who _did—he didn’t deserve you_ ’, and ‘ _you didn’t deserve to die like that and I know that no one does but…you didn’t_ ’.

 _You jinxed yourself by spending all that time talking about dying, you dick_ , Clay thought, feeling a strange something move up from his stomach to his throat, coiling there like a lump.

Did Jack have to have that stupid goth phase that—and no, what was he thinking? That didn’t make sense and jinxes didn’t exist.

Still, Clay couldn’t help himself or his thoughts. And he clearly couldn’t help but wonder. ‘ _Who killed you? Was it that guy that you mentioned—the one that kept following you? I thought we got rid of him?_ ’. A sigh. ‘ _What was his name, Jack? What was it? I can’t remember._ ’

Sniffling now, Clay didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late and a mini-tissue box was in his face. He looked to his right and saw Lui Qiqi, one of Kimiko’s wannabe sidekicks, holding the box.

He supposed she wasn’t planning anything, so he took some tissues with a quiet nod. How was he crying now, when he didn’t want to then?

Coughing loudly, Clay got up and didn’t bother excusing himself before leaving the classroom. Mr. Shang could, with all due respect, suck it. And even his Aunt Marcia’s wrath seemed bearable. He needed to leave class _now_.

Exhaling loudly like he’d been holding a breath—and tears, a whole lot of tears—he didn’t know he was holding, Clay felt like a stone was lifted off his chest.

There was nothing to do now and Clay did have his backpack and money to burn on him, so there was only one possible way the rest of this could go. Unlocking his phone, Clay looked up how long it’d take him to get to Ms. Wong’s in good traffic.

Something about all the unsaid things he wished he could have said to Jack made him strangely crave a fudge sundae. Who knew? Maybe indulging in something Jack loved would make him remember the name his dead former friend had mentioned.

Before he could make out how many minutes his phone had written, though, Clay heard a strange ruckus coming from across the hallway. The kind of ruckus that meant something, possibly a fight, was happening. But it felt about three times more sinister.

Curious and willing to lose a few minutes, Clay hurried down the hall, a few other students with similar ideas flanking his tail, until he reached the slowly growing

He pushed through the crowds, roughly, until he reached the front and there, with an eerily natural ease, found Kimiko on the other side of the crowd.

She wasn’t intrigued or excited, though, like the other kids watching. No, her eyes were scared and panicked like she was watching a nightmare come true.

On any other day, Clay would have openly relished in seeing that look on her face. Right now, however, the teenager felt his stomach drop as he finally managed to make out what was happening in front of him.

He didn’t know the police station felt like they had to send two cops and a detective to arrest Raimundo Pedrosa but, well, here they were.

* * *

_Jail_. Of fucking course, it would be _jail_ , Raimundo thought as he sat in the interrogation room once again, waiting for the detective to come in. It’d been about an hour since he’d been led out school and led into this room and no one had even glanced his way since.

But he didn’t dwell on that. No, Raimundo had a lot more to dwell on and all the time in the world to do so.

While sitting, Raimundo realized he just couldn’t believe it. There he was, trying to fight that bad feeling he’d been feeling as it got louder and heavier by trying to calm himself down.

He’d told himself he’d somehow already used his bad luck quota for the year because of Jack’s murder, counting and re-counting all the bad things that happened ever since he’d started school in Henan like some twisted mantra.

 _One year_ , he’d finally managed to convince himself, _equals one horrible accident_. And then, of course, it happened. Someone arrested him and it just had to be the Hong Kongese detective who had it out for him.

Well, Raimundo thought through his bitterness. Was it a surprise? He _did_ think he’d have to face the consequences to his own actions soon. But he had to acknowledge his small wins, didn’t he?

At least, Raimundo had the sense to pass by the bank today and leave what was most important there. And he didn’t have his prescription pads or Adderall on him, either.

That was something that made him feel a little better about his backpack being taken and combed clean. Even if he was half-sure Kimiko was going to flush everything he had down the toilet.

On the other side of the glass, Chase Young sighed and crossed his arms. The minute he’d seen the knife, he knew something was wrong. There _had_ to be.

One minute, Chase begins to follow his suspicions about Jack’s former friends having to do something with his murder and the next, Ms. Kang, the librarian, confirms that the last person Jack was seen having a very intense conversation with was Raimundo. And after that…well, after that, a black butterfly-knife covered in Jack’s blood and Raimundo’s fingerprints made its way to Chase’s lap.

 _Convenient_ , Chase thought, _and suspicious_. More so the latter than the former. But Chase did have to do his job.

So he sent officers to ask about the knife around the temple and the shadier areas of town and then took two officers with him and drove to the big high school. He then stifled all thoughts about his old high school switching to an odd Americanized system and interrupted an ill-fated Chinese Literature lesson and arrested one of the students sitting the back.

Now that he had his files stuffed with information and evidence and also had a real suspect, Chase stood just outside the room. He couldn’t go inside just yet. He had to take a breather first.

In all his years as a detective, Chase had never really liked interrogation rooms. Some said the interrogation rooms made or broke cases. Others said they made them feel powerful and respectable and all the things they wanted to be.

But to Chase, interrogations rooms only reminded him of the night he was questioned for Dashi’s murder.

He couldn’t help it. One glance at any given interrogation room and he instantly remembered the very first one he’d been in, with its flickering lights and Detective Zhao’s pattering fingers on the table imitating the pattern of the rain outside.

Chase himself had been drenched and his hair and sweatpants had been dripping water onto the floor but the detective didn’t seem to mind. That man’s grim face only moved to tell the confused, scared teenager on the other end of the table one thing.

‘ _You need to speak up, son_ ’, Detective Zhao had said. ‘ _You need to let me know what happened exactly so we can end this. What did you do?_ ’

But when Chase said that he hadn’t done anything and that he’d only returned to town a day before, the detective was un-hearing. He asked the same questions again.

 _What did you do, Chase? You left suddenly and returned suddenly and Huang Dashi asks for the guidance counselor’s help a day before and then goes missing_? _Wasn’t he last seen at your apartment_? _Wasn’t he your friend_? _Why would you do that to him_?

To this day, Chase remembered everything that detective said, word for word. If Wuya hadn’t shown up, he probably would have confessed to anything and everything they told him to confess to too. It would have been the least he could have done, when it _should_ have been him.

He’d never thought about consequences before, that was his problem and everyone knew it. He’d been so sure of himself, only when heading to self-destruction. And ironically, he could have used some of that confidence now.

“You’re still standing here?”, Yi incredulously said, interrupting his thoughts and approaching him with a cup of coffee. Chase took the mug. “What, are you planning to leave him in there all day?”

A pause. “If you’re trying to break him, you…you _do_ know we’re not allowed to do that anymore, right? You can’t even cover it up anymore, with the cameras and everything.”

“No, I wasn’t even planning that.”

“ _Sure_ ”, Yi said, sarcastically. “That’s convincing. Anyway, you’ll need to go in, eventually.”

“I know”, Chase agreed, sighing. He did know he’d have to open that door any minute now but he just needed that extra push.

Yi whistled innocently. “If you need someone to play bad cop…”

That was it.

“Never mind”, Chase dryly said, making his way to the interrogation room door. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Once he’d gotten inside the interrogation room and set his coffee mug on his end of the table, Chase found that he was having a hard time not to scowl. Something about that kid just warranted it.

“Maybe if you take a picture”, Raimundo finally said, fed up with all the stares. “You can look at it all you want, Sweater. I’ll even strike my best pose.”

Shaking the strange sense of Déjà vu off him, Chase scoffed and ignored the remark. “I heard you turned eighteen yesterday. Happy birthday, Raimundo.”

“Yeah, the _greatest_ ”, the boy said, lifting his hands to show the detective his handcuffs. “I’ll always cherish the chains, the dirty floors, and the one phone call I didn’t get to make.”

“Can’t the phone call wait?”

“ _Wow_ ”, Raimundo said. “So you won’t even _bother_ trying to not sound corrupt?”

Chase feigned shock. “Corrupt, how? I’m letting you go.”

With that said, the detective walked to the other side of the table and fished for a key from his pocket before he used it to undo the handcuffs. Seeing the confused expression on the boy’s face, Chase tried for a smile.

“Partially”, the detective added. “You can move anywhere in this room.”

Raimundo rolled his eyes. “Original.”

“Thank you”, Chase said, taking his seat again. “Now, I’ll need you to answer some questions.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“You did, but being questioned as a witness is not the same as being questioned after arrest, Raimundo.”

The boy kept a still face before his mouth wobbled and the smirk Chase didn’t stand was back again.

“I know I was _never_ a witness, Detective. I was a suspect from day one even though I don’t really get why”, he said, casually. “And since you’re arresting me, _anyway_ , playing nice won’t get you anywhere so let’s skip it.”

Huffing now, Chase leaned back into his chair. As much as he hated it, that boy was right. Usually when teenage boys were involved in crime, cops would pretend to be nice and friendly so they’d spill information right away.

But Chase knew more than anyone that that method rarely worked and rarely led anywhere. Especially if the boy in question was used to being treated with suspicion and knew the world was already against him.

“Okay, I won’t try anything”, Chase began, like he was laying all his cards on the table. “You _are_ under arrest, Raimundo. Do you know why?”

To that, the detective got an exasperated, predictable sigh. “ _No_.”

“We found this”, the detective said, taking a photo of the bloodied knife out of his file. He kept his eyes fixed on the boy now, careful to gauge out every off reaction. “And your fingerprints are all over it.”

He paused, eyes unblinking. “And so is Jack’s blood.”

Knowing that every microscopic twitch or movement would be held against him, Raimundo was now hyper-aware of his face and knew his mouth was still stuck on a pretty suspicious smirk.

Despite needing to laugh now more than ever, though, Raimundo dropped his smirk and made his mouth a thin expressionless line. Was _this_ the murder weapon? It seemed fitting. Jack gave him that knife as a birthday present in Year Eight. And _now_ , it would be his undoing.

 _Fucking Jack Spicer_ , Raimundo thought, unsure if he was angry or impressed or both. Jack may have died but he _still_ found yet another way to fuck up Raimundo’s life on the way out. Probably so he could join him in an early grave.

And knowing Jack, it was sadly kind of possible. Back when they were friends, the redhead was undoubtedly one of the clingiest people Raimundo had ever met.

And although he’d liked that at first, eventually he couldn’t stand it. Even when they stopped hanging out, Jack still miraculously knew where he’d be and what he’d be doing.

‘ _Kindred spirits’_ , Jack once told him, in the sixth grade, after Raimundo had confronted him for silently following him around the entire day. ‘ _That’s what we are. Blood brothers, Robin and Beast Boy!_ ’

What Jack had droned on about after that, Raimundo did not remember. He’d yelled at him to ‘ _shut up about the nerd shit for, like, five fucking seconds_ ’. And Jack had been so surprised, he’d actually teared up in shock. It was still funny to this day, that face.

“Is something funny?”

Snapping back to reality, Raimundo realized he’d let out a small chuckle. _Well, fuck_. “Yeah, yes—this is my knife, actually.”

“So you’re _admitting_ it’s yours?”, Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected him to say that.

“Because it is”, the boy said, waving it off. “It was a present.”

“From whom?”

“Jack Spicer”, Raimundo answered with a smirk. “I _know_ , right?”

He paused, dropping the smirk again, and straightening himself in his seat. “Actually, I lost this knife a month ago.”

“You lost it a month ago”, Chase repeated, slowly. “Sounds convenient, don’t you think?”

“I’m not making this up, though”, Raimundo said, still keeping his composure. “If I was, I’d definitely come up with something better.”

After a beat, he explained. “When we got back after the summer, I couldn’t find my knife anywhere so I thought maybe I forgot it in another town or something.”

The detective gave nothing away in his analytic stare. “But it turns out it was here all along. You said you live in a circus and you share living-space with your godmother and two others—is it possible someone took it without asking?”

“No, everyone _asks_ before they take anything”, Raimundo said, sharply. “It’s a circus, _not a zoo_.”

Realizing he’d touched a nerve, Chase bit back a satisfied grin. The more emotion he could draw out, the easier it’d be to get factual information.

“So you’d say it was stolen? And I’m assuming your circus has security?”

“Yes and _yes_.”

“Okay, so who could have had easy access to your circus. Your train, specifically?”

Despite himself, Raimundo froze for a moment. His circus had gotten back from Beijing about a month ago and barely a day after that, Jack had called him and the others to meet up at Ms. Wong’s. After that, they went to the river and then he went home but he wasn’t alone that day.

 _No, that couldn’t be it_ , Raimundo thought now. _Even_ she _wouldn’t do something like this, unless_ …

Shelving away the thought for now, he shrugged. “I don’t wanna sound like an asshole, but it was probably a thief. That’s kinda the point.”

“Fine. Let’s circle back to the knife itself”, Chase allowed. “Are you aware there are no other fingerprints or any foreign DNA on the knife but yours and Jack’s?”

“No, but why would I be?”, the teenager said, sounding a tad whiny. “I just told you I lost it.”

“And yet your fingerprints are still there untainted.”

“Because it’s _my_ knife, so obviously it’d have _my_ fingerprints. And whoever took it probably put on gloves because that’s, like, Criminal Activity 101.”

Chase raised an eyebrow, pretending like this was a legitimate point to build on. “And how much do you know about the tenets of criminal activity, Raimundo?”

“A lot”, Raimundo said, squaring his shoulders. “I was friends with a dude who was obsessed with true crime and I dated an arsonist, so…yeah, _a lot_.”

“And, of course”, the detective said, gesturing with his hand. “We can’t forget about the drugs you sell.”

“Drugs?”, the teenager said, a smirk making its way to his face again. So, his paranoia was _almost_ in the right place after all. “Are you _sure_ you’re not just relying on stereotypes, Detective?”

“You tell me”, Chase said, taking a couple more photos out of his file. It was only by luck his phone could zoom in that close and still get a high quality. “Isn’t that your hand? What do you see here?”

“An invasion of someone’s privacy and…yeah, _sure_. It’s dark enough to be my hand, but it’s still just a hand”, Raimundo said, looking at the photo. “And I don’t sell drugs.”

“So what were you selling? There was money being exchanged here. In this photo, specifically.”

“I know. But that’s not drugs. I’m not saying I know shit but if you look closely, I think you’d tell these are just pages from prescription pads and, like, some Adderall. _Not_ drugs.”

Chase couldn’t entirely agree with the statement. “Still highly suspicious and an aid to drug-selling.”

When the boy smartly kept his mouth shut and only shrugged, the detective moved on to something else. “I want to revisit your alibi.”

“Again?”, Raimundo asked. Although he knew the detective was planning something, he was fed up with giving or hearing his alibi yet another time.

“Yes, again”, Chase said, nodding. “You said had your circus training in the morning and then you played some football and then you say you got barbecue takeout and _somehow_ went home with noodles.”

Raimundo nodded. “Yeah, basically. And I ate like half the takeout on the way home. Long walk, you know.”

“Sure, let’s say that”, the detective allowed, knowing that was bullshit. “But it seems you forgot to mention something. Do you know Ms. Kang?”

When the boy shook his head, Chase continued. “That’s the librarian at the town’s main library, the one Jack Spicer used to go to on an almost daily basis.”

“Okay?”, Raimundo said, tone casual and vaguely annoyed. “And what does that have to do with me?”

The detective gave him a look. “Ms. Kang recently told us someone visited Jack at the library and that it sounded like they were having a fight. Two hours before he died.”

A pause. “She also said Jack mentioned something about being threatened by someone and that the last time she saw him he had a fresh black eye.”

Another pause. Chase sighed. “And, you know what, Raimundo? I showed her countless photos and she picked you out right away. She said _you_ were the one who visited Jack at the library.”

“We had homework and Jack didn’t get what it was about so maybe I got a little loud while explaining it, but you know, _of course_ , she’d think we were _fighting_. And…I still don’t”, Raimundo began, hoarsely before clearing his throat. “I still don’t see why that has anything to do with me. A lot of people in this town say I did things I didn’t do just because the shoe fits.”

Pausing, the boy gave the detective a disapproving look. “You’ve studied everything about Jack, right? So you gotta know he has this habit of getting into fight with _anyone_. Even if he knew he was gonna lose.”

“Interesting”, Chase said, though it wasn’t. He’d heard that before and he wasn’t fond of that look he was getting. “And would anyone you know get into a fight with Jack Spicer at the Shaolin temple?”

Raimundo shrugged. “Yeah probably. Look, Jack was into that creepy shit. He used to force us to go to that temple because he thought it was cool. He took everyone he knew there.”

The detective clicked his tongue. “Really? Because I spoke to both Ashley Gatz and Alisha Zhang and they said Jack never took them to that temple.”

“Okay, so he grew out of it? Good for him.”

“You know that knife”, Chase said, tapping his finger on the right photo. “Was found in the temple under a loose tile.”

 _Was_ _found_ , Raimundo noticed. Was he reading too much into it or did it sound like the cops weren’t the ones who found the knife? If they did, they definitely would have brought it up in the first interrogation and— _wait_ , was his mind playing tricks on him or did a flash of nervousness just cross the detective’s face.

“That sounds stupid, though”, Raimundo finally said. “If I used my own knife to kill someone, why would I leave it at the scene of the crime?”

A pause, followed by a shrug. Wuya said it was always better to go by the gut. “And if it was at the scene of the crime, why didn’t you ask me about it last time? It was sent to you, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe you should remember who’s interrogating who, Raimundo”, Chase said, tiredly crossing his arms. The boy was right but so were the doubly-repeated analyses. _That_ was his DNA. “And everything about that knife suggests that you had it recently.”

“Well, I didn’t”, Raimundo insisted. “You can keep me here all you want but you won’t hear me admit to something I didn’t do.”

And it was that sentence, that very last one, that made Chase stop for a minute _. I didn’t do anything to him_ , he himself had said once in a room like this twenty years ago, _and you can’t force me to say I did_.

“You know”, Chase began, sighing and slouching a little in his chair. Maybe he should try this just one more time. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.”

Despite the situation, Raimundo rolled his eyes. _Sure_. He hadn’t heard _that one_ before. The detective didn’t seem to notice his scoffing, though.

“I was an asshole back then”, Chase elaborated, even though he knew the teenager was already disinterested. “I was an orphan and I had a troubled childhood before I came here. Unstable life, not much money—everything that could make me act out, you name it, I had it.”

He paused. “I had friends, though. People who cared about me, but I pushed them away because I was jealous and scared. The town said I was an outcast, so I said _fuck it_ —I will _be_ an outcast.”

Another pause. “And do you know what happened after that?”

“You ended your stupid metaphor”, Raimundo offered. Something about the way the detective talked was familiar, but he wasn’t interested enough to ask. “Because it’s making me lose the little respect I had for you?”

Chase held back his glare. “I ended up in a room just like this. Because everyone thought that I did something terrible just because of what I was already doing.”

Pausing, he sighed. “So, believe me, I _know_ how rough it is for you. You have no one to turn to so you make bad choices because you think there’s no way out anyway.”

Another pause. He had to try at least, didn’t he? Here went nothing.

“But there _is_ a way out, Raimundo. Do you want to know what it is?”

A surge of silence followed that question. Raimundo, with his bowed and hidden, said nothing for a long time and Chase allowed himself to feel triumphant at getting through to him. And then, of course, he heard the boy’s chuckle.

Lifting his head now, Raimundo laughed again before slowly clapping three times. “How inspiring, Detective. No, really. _Look_ , I have goosebumps!”

A pause.

“But you know what? I can’t believe you”, the teenager said, shrugging. What was it with people constantly comparing themselves to him? First, Jack and now this. “You and I are _nothing_ alike.”

“Raim—”

“We’re _not_ ”, Raimundo interrupted, almost banging his fist on the table before unclenching it and letting it hang by his side. “My childhood, my life—it’s _nothing_ like yours. You said you didn’t have a stable life, right? But I did.”

A pause. “We’re not rich but we’re not poor. And believe it or not, I actually have some people who actually _do_ _care_ and look out for me. I have a _family_.”

Something had changed, Chase knew. Although he’d interrogated Raimundo and dug into his life before, it seemed like this time the detective hit a sore spot. The characteristic smirk was long gone and so was any attempt a poker face. _Progress_ , the detective thought.

“If they cared”, Chase began, calmly. “Would you have started selling fake prescription slips and stimulants to support yourself?”

Raimundo chuckled, though nothing was particularly funny. “It’s _not_ that serious and I’m only doing that so I can save up to pay for college.”

“I thought you had a scholarship?”

“It’s a fifty-percent scholarship.”

“And Jack was offered a full scholarship”, Chase found himself saying, remembering that story about MIT. He’d doubted it’s validity but it wouldn’t hurt to prod. “And even if he wasn’t, he’d have paid for it anyway. Right?”

Pausing, the detective noted the frown forming on Raimundo’s face and remembered one sentence he’d scrawled in his notes. _According to many students, Raimundo A. Pedrosa was not above making time to right perceived wrongs_.

“Did you find that insulting somehow? That you had to work hard and save up while Jack could do whatever he wanted and still go to his dream school?”

A pause. “Or were you just upset your old sidekick was finally doing something with his life? That he was planning on _being_ _something_ and going about it the right way.”

Another pause. “Was that it, Raimundo? You were jealous. That’s why you killed him?”

When said teenager didn’t respond and pursed his lips, Chase sighed. Time for the final trick. He wasn’t even a hundred-percent sure about this, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Or did it have something to do with how you were in love with him? Did you do it because he knew and he was planning on telling someone? _Kimiko_ , maybe?”

At that, Raimundo’s head snapped up quickly. His face was unreadable at first, but soon enough Chase could make two expressions he himself was very accustomed to. Confusion and the shock of being found out.

Clenching his jaw, Raimundo gave him a look. “I got over _that_ in Year Nine. And I’m not seven—I don’t throw temper tantrums just because I’m jealous. And I certainly won’t kill someone over it.”

And before Chase could say anything, the teenager added, “And I’m out, by the way. _Everyone_ knows I’m bi, but I’ll give you props, you know. I didn’t know you still used homophobia in your little coercion games.”

“I don’t have to say this but I’m gay, just so you know.”

To that, Raimundo snorted. “And you’re a _fed_ —big whoop, traitor.”

“Maybe you didn’t _deliberately_ kill Jack”, Chase said, willfully ignoring that last remark. “But I know you and your old friends accidentally got into trouble before.”

“And if you knew us that well”, Raimundo said, sighing tiredly. “You’d know Dyris was manipulating us. That woman was a _literal_ child-groomer. She was a predator—the oldest one of us back then was only _fourteen_.”

“I wasn’t talking about Dyris”, the detective began, before shrugging. “Well, I _was_ but I wasn’t keeping it limited to her. See, I did my research, Raimundo.”

He paused, sighing.

“You and your friends have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Chemically toxic soot storm? You and your friends were loitering around the abandoned petrol factory. A tiger mutilates a woman? You and your friends were by the animal cages at your circus a day before.”

Another pause. “And then the Dyris thing. Notice a pattern there, Raimundo?”

And, well, Raimundo did. But it wasn’t like the detective was pointing out something he wasn’t already aware of. He’d always known he was a terrible person and everything, one way or another, was his fault.

When Jack wanted to check out the abandoned Sapphire Dragon Factory for robot parts, they all looked to Raimundo to see what he thought and he shrugged. When Clay wanted to check out the tigers and lions and other animal cages at the circus, Raimundo led the way.

And even when he had a bad feeling about Dyris and Jack told him she was _kinda_ terrifying and Clay smiled uneasily and Omi was too fascinated to properly speak, Raimundo said they should hang out with her.

Because Kimiko wanted to and _he_ wanted Kimiko to be happy because he’d _just_ asked her out and…well, the minute they started hanging around Dyris, they couldn’t stop.

“All I’m noticing is that this is a bad town to raise kids”, Raimundo quipped, trying to sound funnier than he felt. “Who wants to live here, am I right?”

“Don’t be smart”, Chase said, dropping all pretenses. “Just tell me. Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t.”

“And the knife?”

“Okay, I know this is going to sound way too _advanced_ for you but here’s a thought”, Raimundo began, voice dripping venom. “Someone’s trying to frame me.”

“Fine”, Chase said, pretending to easily accept that theory. Maybe this would lead somewhere. “If you didn’t do it, who would have enough motive to kill Jack and then frame you for it?”

That question, for an unspecified reason, stumped Raimundo.

Here he was, not even denying the fact that he was selling something that could possibly be illegal and that wasn’t even the worst part.

No. He’d also readily accepted that there had been a point in time when he was in love with _Jack fucking Spicer_ when he’d never really let himself acknowledge it. Simply because he _couldn’t_ deal with that _and_ deal with having feelings for two people at once _and_ deal with discovering his bisexuality.

And then, he lied and said that he’d had people who cared for him—a _family_ even, when his family had finally given up and stopped calling a year ago and Wuya was planning to skip town when he graduated high school.

And yet, that question was the only one that truly rendered him speechless. Just who did have a motivation to kill Jack?

In their small Henan town, as unassuming as it was with its limited population, sometimes people died gruesome deaths for no apparent reasons. That was just a town truth and everyone knew it as much as they knew they had to avoid the bad street where the Wushu dojo was.

A year before Raimundo came to town, two college kids had died after falling off the cliff’s edge and to this day, no one knew whether it was intentional or not. Thirteen years before that, as his godmother told him, a high school senior was murdered in a manner so horrible she was too choked up to even describe it.

And then, a couple of years back, one woman was mutilated by that tiger and ended up floating in the river. And then, six people died within weeks of each other just because Dyris wanted them to.

She didn’t even know them, as far as Raimundo could tell, but she wanted them to die so they did. _They want to die too, you know_ , Dyris would tell him with one hand around his shoulders and the other tilting his chin. _If they didn’t then why would they drink the poison?_

As much as he hated her, Raimundo had to admit Dyris had a point. Wasn’t she at least right about that?

Didn’t those people—Ms. Yeoh and Mr. Wu and little Tsai Bei and Miss Fang and Miss Yao and Old Man Nuo—all accept the poison-laced herbal medicine from total strangers, from those strange kids whom trouble followed everywhere? They let them into their homes, didn’t they?

 _They let us into their homes_ , Raimundo repeated that thought in his head until it made his gut lurch so suddenly he almost vomited then and there.

 _Yeah_. So, _that_ was one of the reasons he never let himself think too much about these things. When you did bad things, Raimundo learned, it was better you forgot them and moved on. For your sake.

“Sometimes it just happens”, Raimundo finally answered, shrugging like it was the world’s worst-kept secret. “Sometimes people die for no reason at all.”

Hearing that, Chase couldn’t do anything but nod and accept that statement. The kid’s face screamed he’d just had some godawful epiphanies after a few prods too many. And he still knew far more than he let on but wasn’t willing to talk yet.

Sighing, the detective decided to give the teenager a break and left the room for now. Confronted by the fact that he’d became what he hated the most, Chase needed a breather of his own too.

* * *

After their former friend was dragged out of school in handcuffs to be interrogated yet again, Clay and Kimiko had managed to sneak off school grounds and made their way to Ms. Wong’s ice-cream parlor, following muscle memory alone.

Neither said a word on the way there. Even as they got all kinds of looks from passersby and nosey neighbors peering at their school uniforms, they were quiet and that thoughtful silence was too familiar between them, it almost became a comfort of sorts.

That is, until Clay broke it. “Howdy, Ms. Wong. I’ll have a fudge sundae, please.”

“And Kimiko?”, Ms. Wong asked, not unkindly. “What would you like?”

Although she’d nodded, Kimiko’s head was clearly elsewhere, if that deeply thoughtful look was anything to judge by. She barely mumbled a ‘hello’ but said nothing else. Seeing this, Clay stepped in.

“Just a matcha milkshake, Ms. Wong”, he said as he dragged the girl by the arm. “No sugars. We’ll be at our table!”

And as he led them both to the booth at the very back of the parlor, Clay noticed two things that suddenly made him feel like a duck flying north for winter. Just how _stupid_ could he get?

Ms. Wong’s parlor was so empty at this hour, the teenager could have seen the tumbleweeds rolling if he squinted hard enough and yet he still told the lady they’d be at their table, like she’d get confused.

 _And their table didn’t exist to begin with_ , Clay thought. _Not anymore, it didn’t_. But if their table didn’t exist, then why did he and Kimiko both automatically go for the same table, without so much as a glance exchanged.

“Let’s not talk for a minute”, Kimiko said, after their orders shortly followed them to the table. “We need to think.”

Clay nodded, even though he had an inkling she wouldn’t drink much of her milkshake. “Cheers.”

Minutes passed by swiftly then, with Clay savoring his sundae because it was just _that_ good and Kimiko deigning to gulp down her milkshake only once it began to melt. And that, too, somehow reminded Clay of better times that he’d forgotten.

‘ _Matcha makes you skinny’_ , he remembered a younger Kimiko telling him, falsely sympathetic and skinny as a twig. Her milkshake had two scoops of ice-cream and she never gained weight, but the confident way she said it left no room for question. ‘ _You_ need _to try it, Clay_.’

As rude as she’d been then, Clay couldn’t help but find himself oddly missing that pre-anger management Kimiko. The girl who said what she wanted to say and meant it and made herself so easily readable because she just didn’t care.

That girl was _horrible_ , but at least he sometimes understood her. He’d stopped understanding her in Year Nine, though.

Jack had taken one prank too far and Kimiko came out a lot more guarded. Angrier, too, if _that_ was possible. But her anger wasn’t as loud anymore. You just had to look out for it before it got you. And they’d all figured that out too little too late.

“What?”, Kimiko said now, her milkshake half-drunk in front of her. “Why are you staring at me?”

Clay snapped out of it with a grunt. Something about her tone was always miffed when she spoke to him. “Nothing, just thinking. Ain’t you?”

“I am”, she agreed, nodding once. “I just can’t believe we actually saw that happen.”

“I mean, I can but I didn’t expect it like this.”

Clay paused but before he could say anything else, Omi interrupted them with a quick greeting and his dairy-free toffee ice-cream.

“Hi, Clay”, Omi said, with a certain edge to his voice that made said teenager roll his eyes. Then with a lighter tone, he added, “Hi, Kimiko.”

Kimiko barely looked up. “Hey, Omi. So, school’s out?”

“No, I skipped last period”, the boy said, shrugging. “I came as soon as Clay texted me.”

“Aunt Jinglei’s _so_ going to kick your ass”, she said, not even the slightest bit surprised at Clay texting her cousin. “What is everyone saying?”

Shutting his eyes, Omi took a moment to exhale out the longest, most dramatic sigh Clay had ever heard him give before he opened his eyes again.

“At lunch, Shadow bought everyone drumsticks and I heard some people say Ashley’s throwing a party. A lot of people are celebrating for Jack, but—well, I didn’t think Jack was _that_ liked.”

Kimiko and Clay shared a look. They both knew it wasn’t a matter of people liking Jack Spicer because if that was the case, the reactions would have been _a lot_ more understated. It’s just that people _hated_ Raimundo. And if they said they didn’t hate him, then they were lying and afraid.

“I gotta ask, though. Did a cop really push Raimundo face-first into a locker?”, Omi asked, wincing slightly. “I heard he broke his nose and there was blood everywhere and—"

Clay snorted. “Lemme guess, Zhao Lun said that?”

“Well, yeah, he did but…did it happen?”

“ _Obviously, no_. Zhao Lun has _never_ told the truth a day in his life”, Kimiko dismissed with a wave of her hand. Technically, Zhao Lun _was_ telling the truth but it was the truth about what happened to him in Year Seven. “It was pretty uneventful, as far as arrests go.”

She paused. “Raimundo didn’t even say _or_ do anything, but everyone crowded and stuff because that _literally_ happened in the middle of the hallway and we were _all_ there.”

“I don’t get why they’d send three people to arrest him”, Clay said, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds mighty excessive to me, but y’know…”

Pausing, the teenager gave himself enough time to slow-shrug and analyze the other two’s faces. He could already tell where this was going and he wanted to rip that band-aid right away.

“We’ll probably know more from Raimundo when they let him go”, he said. “But he probably knows we’re here, right?”

Omi nodded. “Well, where else would we go?”

“He’s not gonna meet us here”, Kimiko casually said, sounding more annoyed with every word. “Not for a while, I think. You didn’t see it, Clay. They made an _actual_ arrest.”

“No”, Clay said, automatically. “They can’t just go around arresting minors, Kimiko.”

“That’s the thing—he’s not a minor anymore. He’s _eighteen_.”

Raising an eyebrow, Clay considered her words for roughly two seconds, counting their birthdays. Omi’s was in March but he was years younger so that didn’t count. After him, Clay followed in May, then Kimiko in August, then Jack in September, and Raimundo’s—well, it _was_ in October but it wasn’t here yet. Clay shook it off.

“No, he’s _not_. His birthday’s at the end of the month.”

“No, it’s not”, Kimiko said, sharply. “It’s not. It was _yesterday_ and they arrested him today and there’s no three-second rule when it comes to cops being allowed to arrest you or did you lawyer cousin skip that in the Honky Law Crash Course?”

Clay scowled. “Gee, I don’t know, Kim. Let’s ask _yer dad_. Didn’t he start buy off the Tokyo cops after you started getting a little too match-happy? Or— _nah, wait_. Your pa’s probably moved on to Interpol at this point.”

As the silence settled, the table was overly quiet except for the sound of Omi clearing his throat.

For some reason, even as he missed the company of his and his cousin’s former friends, he’d forgotten one thing. Sometimes, they just couldn’t stand each other and when that happened, anything was fair game. _Especially_ family.

Ghost Jack had stopped talking to him after he took that nap in second period, but Omi didn’t need him to know this was _so_ not the right time. They needed to shelve away the pettiness for now and focus on the important.

And right now, Omi’s list of Important Things had a total of three points: Find out why the police came, solve Jack’s murders, and getting the others on board on his investigation. Right now, it fell _exactly_ in that order.

But one question still pierced through all of Omi’s priorities, both important and not so much. Kimiko said the police made an arrest, which could only mean one thing—they found something.

“What do you think they found?”, he found himself asking. “Do you…do you think they found out who killed him? Or, like, a _weapon_ or something?”

At that, Kimiko and Clay shared a foggy look. “Yeah, probably found one of either”, Clay shrugged and said at the same time Kimiko shook her head and uttered a resolute, “They didn’t find _shit_ ”.

“Whaddya mean they didn’t find shit?”, Clay asked, curiously. “If they arrested someone, then they probably found something pretty fucking significant, don’t ya think?”

Kimiko narrowed her eyes. “Obviously, they didn’t because they arrested _fucking_ _Raimundo_. As in _one of us_ because we’re the only ones they’re targeting _because_ that stupid detective only listened to what Gatz and Shadow said.”

Hit with a burst of energy after finishing his ice-cream, Omi’s brain went into a million different directions at once. For one thing, Clay’s words had gotten him really intrigued as to why Detective Young arrested Raimundo but…but didn’t Kimiko’s words kind of clarify that?

Either way, Omi thought as he shook his head, they had to get Raimundo out. Ghost Jack was _right_. He was the missing piece. After he’d gotten arrested, Omi was pulled out of class by a concerned Principal Cho, who needed to know where Kimiko went and if he knew about Clay’s whereabouts too, well, that’d be very helpful. Raimundo wasn’t even there, but he still got them back together.

 _And if we get him out_ , Omi thought. _Then, he’ll_ have _to help us solve Jack’s case_. With that train of thought well-wrapped, Omi sighed and gathered up all the courage his fourteen year-old soul could muster.

“We need to save Raimundo”, Omi began, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He didn’t do anything and we can’t just sit around and waste time until they drag us in too.”

Frown set deep into place, Clay gestured Omi to settle down. “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, partner. Who says the cops are even gonna look our way?”

Noticing the stares, he explained, “Look, y’all. _I’m_ eighteen, _Kimiko’s_ eighteen and yet neither one of us is being arrested right now. Know why? Because, as far as I know, we didn’t do nothing.”

“But neither did Raimundo?”

“Why are you so sure of that, Omi?”, Clay asked, shrugging. “For all we know, he did it.”

Kimiko scoffed. “Of course _you_ would say that.”

“Why shouldn’t I, Kimiko?”, Clay said, looking her in the eye.

His guilt been bothering him for a few days now, and something else had started to bother him too.

He’d been nursing it ever since he’d restarted revisiting more of his middle school memories. Neither he nor Kimiko had wanted Omi to speak, Clay knew, but _Raimundo_ had taken it a notch further. He’d all but threatened the kid.

While Clay and Kimiko had taken turns between mollifying Omi and debunking his imaginations of how telling the cops would go, Raimundo told him he better not tell a soul. And he’d followed that with a ‘ _or else_ ’ Clay vividly remembered because everyone knew an ‘ _or else’_ from Raimundo meant nothing good.

And, of course, Clay’s theory had been infused with one vivid image. Jack and Raimundo’s leaving together that night, tensely like they had something planned.

Sighing, Clay accusingly added, “Matter of fact, why aren’t _you_ saying it too? Didn’t you hear him at the memorial…or at the train, the other day? He was so dead-set against Omi talking and—”

“And so were _we_ ”, Kimiko said, indignantly cutting him off. “Because we’ve all done stupid shit that we don’t want anyone knowing. _Remember_? Remember that fucking river?”

“I do. And that’s why I’m saying he could’ve done it”, Clay retorted. Sighing, the teenager let his eyes scan both cousins before saying anything. “Sure, he was our friend once, but I happen to know what Raimundo is capable of. Y’all know too.”

After that, Clay had nothing more to add so he gave Kimiko a pointed look and shrugged like he was washing his hands off of this. He knew he didn’t have to say anymore either because Kimiko found the window rather appealing and couldn’t look him in the eye.

She _knew_ what he meant—they both saw Raimundo using that knife, skilled and unfazed, like it was just another Wednesday and he was out like Clay’s ranch-helper Buckeye Teddy preparing the weekend brisket.

But Omi didn’t know that. Omi didn’t know _anything_ at all and, frankly, he was getting sick of it. He should have never let Kimiko send him on lookout duty that day because whatever had happened, no one would tell him.

“What happened at that river?”, Omi asked, not bothering to mask his curiosity. “I need to know too if it’s so important you’re considering not helping him over it.”

Though she’d glanced at him for a full two seconds before turning her focus back to Clay, Kimiko didn’t answer Omi. In fact, she just sighed and massaged her temples. It just had to come down to this, right?

“Okay, so I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t consider it. I _did_ ”, Kimiko said, clasping her hands. “But now I’m basically a _hundred_ _percent_ _sure_ he didn’t do it.”

Clay clicked his tongue. “Do I have to ask why or are you elaborating either way?”

“I talked to Raimundo earlier today”, she said after a glare. “And he was worried, you know—like _worried_ _sick_ because he thought an inspection was going to happen.”

She paused, giving both boys a meaningful look. “And he was so worried, he gave me all those little pills and prescription slips he sells, you know them.”

“Yeah, I know ‘em”, Clay said, struggling to hold back his scoff. Everyone knew about Raimundo’s shady business but no one reported him because, well, it was _him_. “And? What’s yer point?”

“My point is”, Kimiko said, stressing every word. “If he was that worried over an inspection and he _killed_ a person, he’d have been more worried about things that aren’t pills and some second-string weed.”

“That’s not a very strong case—”

“And he didn’t try to skip school today or try to avoid arrest or _do_ _anything_. You _know_ him, Clay. How does he get when police stuff is involved?”

So, maybe she _did_ have a point, Clay allowed. But only barely. Something about all this still didn’t sit well with him. “Fine”, he said.

It was no skin off his back, was it? He’d go along with whatever they planned now because he knew they’d move on to what was _really_ _important_ afterwards—finding out just what happened to Jack and finding out that Han-Wan-Something name so this nightmare would be _finally_ over.

 _And if it comes down to it_ , Clay thought. _I’m not going down with this ship_. “So what do we do now?”

Having reached the conclusion while the other two were arguing, Omi groaned and lifted his head off the table. As oblivious as those two were, at least they’d _finally_ gotten somewhere.

“We have to go get Wuya. _Let’s go_!”

Sharing a look with Kimiko, Clay grimaced. The last time he’d seen Wuya, she’d been pleasant enough but he never liked telling the woman when her godson was in trouble. The look she got always reminded him of an old storybook witch.

* * *

During the tense thirty minutes they spent walking from Ms. Wong’s shop to the circus, Kimiko was very much aware of all the eyes that burned holes into her back.

It wasn’t like it was something new, though. She’d always had a target on her back.

In Tokyo, everyone knew who she was but not only because of her famous father. They knew her as her father’s daughter who _also_ went insane and almost successfully burned down her school.

And here, well, they knew her as the Kato Tadashi’s distant niece. The strange girl who liked burning things and whose name was basically synonymous with trouble. That girl who rebranded into a total bitch in high school. _That_ girl.

Over the last few days, Kimiko gradually returned to being the strange girl and the eyes were burning into her back again. Only those eyes weren’t just the townspeople’s anymore. They were also Clay’s and Omi’s.

She probably could have said it better, Kimiko considered. But she had to go and open her big mouth— _literally_ only to convince _Clay_ not to fuck everything up—and say that she was ‘ _basically a hundred percent sure’_ that Raimundo didn’t do it. Why was she even _that_ _certain_ about it? How could she be?

But, oddly, she simply was. Not just because he gave her all those pills and papers. Kimiko wasn’t that stupid.

She was convinced because she could feel it, deep down. She knew it. There _was_ a killer on the loose but it wasn’t whoever the police were looking into. It _had_ to be that faux-fanatic trying to divert all trails from themselves and framing the usual suspects. That was it. That _had_ to be it.

As sure of this theory as she was, though, Kimiko was still leading her one-track mid cousin and ever-suspicious former friend to the circus so they could save a person who was arrested largely based on a gut feeling.

 _Well_ , Kimiko thought now. _If there was ever an appropriate time to be surrounded by clowns_.

“Well, we’re here”, Clay announced once they reached the circus gates. “Kimiko, you go get her.”

And that was another thing she’d forgotten she’d liked about Clay. His surrealist sense of humor. Like _that_ was gonna happen. “ _Fuck_ you if you think you’re throwing me out for this one, Lucky Luke! You’re _both_ coming with me.”

“ _Eh_ , I don’t think we should be makin’ a habit of being spotted here”, the boy said, shrugging now. “I think _you_ should go since you’ve practically lived here for a while so—”

“You’re really going th—”

Before the angry girl could continue her tirade, though, she noticed a moving figure out of the corner of her eye.

“Omi, where are you going?”

“Going to get Wuya”, the teenager nonchalantly said. “You two clearly want to waste time while someone we know is currently _rotting in jail_ , so...”

Scoffing, Clay followed the youngest of the group in. “You’re gonna make someone a really great overbearing mother one day, Omi.”

Muttering under her breath, Kimiko made a point to punch Clay in the arm as hard as she could before jogging to reach Omi and then passing him to lead the way to the train car they were seeking.

As she raised her fist to knock on the door, Kimiko suddenly realized the very real possibility that Wuya already knew and that they were just making fools of themselves.

This was something they’d probably should have considered before making their way here but they hadn’t taken any breaks and they’d been all but rushed out by Omi. _Of course_ , she thought, _this is what we get for following the fourteen year-old_.

“Come on, Kimi”, said kid now said, almost whiningly. “Just knock!”

And knock, she did. After a few seconds of standing unanswered at the door, she knocked again. She almost knocked a third time before the door suddenly sprang open.

“Raimundo”, a clearly annoyed Marco began before seeing who was at the door. “It’s already op—what are you guys doing here? Raimundo’s not home.”

“Hey, Marco”, Kimiko said, raising an eyebrow. “Actually, we were looking for Wuya. Is she around? It’s kind of urgent.”

Omi butted in, giving his cousin a pointed look. “It’s very _explicitly_ urgent, Marco.”

“Well, come on in”, Marco said, stepping aside and sliding the door fully-open. “She’s inside. _Wuya_! Visitors!”

Hearing her name yelled out, Wuya got off her bed and bottled up her nail-polish bottle. She took a quick look at the visitors and then did a double-take before she walked over, careful not to ruin her toes’ polish.

“Out of everyone who could have visited me”, Wuya began, smiling easily. “I didn’t expect you kids. How’s it—”

“It’s about Raimundo”, Omi blurted out, unable to help himself. “Wuya, they arrested him.”

Wuya’s smile dropped and her nail-polish was all but forgotten as she walked closer. “They _what_? _Why_?”

“We don’t know, ma’am”, Clay said, trying his hardest not to stomp on Omi’s foot. At fourteen, Clay was always struggling to choose the right words but Omi only knew ‘tact’ as a word in the dictionary. “But that detective showed up and arrested him in school.”

“When did this happen?”, the woman asked, eyes quickly scanning the three teenagers while Marco and another woman in the room panicked in the background. “Why didn’t he _call_ me? What—why didn’t _you_ call me right away?”

Kimiko took a deep breath. “Around second period, Wuya. And we, well, we thought he might have called you and we decided to stop by and tell you just in case.”

“We have to go to the station now”, the strange woman in latex none of the teenagers knew said. “Let’s go, _now_.”

Marco agreed. “I’m going to show that stuck-up Young just what I think of his investigation—arresting a kid at school, who does that? Smug Rapunzel-looking _bastard_!”

“Yes, we have to go”, Wuya said, after a pause. Something about his words, Kimiko noticed, seemed to stupefy her anger. The woman had paled so hard Kimiko thought she’d seen a ghost. “I’m taking the kids so I can drop them off. Marco, Valentina, stay here.”

“But—”

“Just do it”, Wuya insisted, yanking the car keys from Marco’s hands. Looking behind him at the gesturing woman, she nodded. “Yes, Valentina. _That_ bag.”

Turning to the kids, the redhead barely told them to move out before they all left the train for Marco’s rundown car. As intense as the situation itself was, Kimiko couldn’t help but vividly remember older, similar times.

In a way, Wuya had always been a figure in all their lives, not just in Raimundo’s. Sure, she was _his_ godmother, but she’d been in a presence in their memories too.

She’d taught Omi how to swim at the community center and she’d sat around a fire with them in the forest and told them the best ghost stories she could think of, never toning down the fear factor once.

She’d fixed Jack’s rebellious hair dye mistakes and taught him how to properly dye his hair and even helped him find his perfect Firetruck Red shade. She’d taught Clay a few guitar notes and taught Kimiko some boxing moves and told them all their fortunes half a million times.

‘ _You will go on to do great things’_ , Wuya would say, smiling as she’d read the lines in Kimiko’s hand. She told them all the same thing, but she still pretended every fortune was special. ‘ _You and those boys have a shared destiny, you know. You will all kill the monster and burn down their nest_.’

And when the troubles came, Wuya was there too. She’d told the officers that a soot storm could not possibly be the work of a gaggle of twelve year-olds (and one eight year-old) and she’d wiped their fingerprints off the animal cages bars before the cops even came looking.

And when Dyris was caught and the cops were finished taking their statements at the station and let them go, Wuya was the only parent or guardian whose reaction stuck with Kimiko for the longest time.

She didn’t yell like Clay’s Aunt Marcia shrilly did or give a long-winded lecture like the Spicers had done to Jack. She didn’t even slap Raimundo like Aunt Jinglei did to both Kimiko and Omi under Uncle Tadashi’s disappointed gaze.

No, instead, Wuya hugged him, deeply and tightly. And for the longest time, Kimiko had envied Raimundo that. Wuya wasn’t at all related to him and yet she cared about him more than Kimiko’s own uncle did about her.

‘ _I just don’t think it’s natural’_ , Jack had told her once in the first sleepover they’d had after the Dyris Incident. Everyone else had been sleeping, so she and Jack had given up pretending. ‘ _Wuya’s definitely got dirt on her—no one’s that…loving. I can tell, she’s definitely using Rai for something illegal’_.

And because Kimiko had been jealous and uncared for and fourteen, she’d viciously agreed. ‘ _That woman’s a hag. She’s probably waiting until he’s eighteen so she can, like, sacrifice him or sell his organs on the black market or something._ ’

Sitting in the passenger’s seat next to Wuya, Kimiko uncomfortably sank into her seat. The silence had just begun to become less awkward, with everyone but the driver looking ahead or out of their windows.

“You know”, Wuya began, clearing her throat. “I’d hoped to see you kids under better circumstances, I really did. We missed you around the circus. You used to be there _all the time_ —remember all your little sleepovers?”

When no one said anything and Clay only awkwardly coughed, the woman added.

“I thought you’d move past all your squabbles because…you know, because of what happened to Jack. Truly horrifying, I still can’t believe it—just who could do such—”

Pausing, she shook her head, as if trying to block out something. Sighing, she backtracked.

“I really thought you’d all try to mend things because you’d realize how short life really is and then I saw you coming here to hang out again and some of you stayed over and I thought— _oh, well_ , it’s not the time, I know”.

“I personally think you’ve got a lot of points there, Wuya”, Omi chipped in, sucking up like he did to the few adults he admired, while Kimiko and Clay both scoffed.

At that, they shared a look through the driver’s mirror and Kimiko saw Clay gave her a pointed look that meant he knew _exactly_ who Wuya was talking about when she said someone stayed over at Raimundo’s train. It was _definitely_ going to come up later, Kimiko could just feel it.

In the few moments she’d let her guard down and showed that she actually had emotions other than anger— _like everyone else_ —Clay never shied from disparaging eyerolls and harsh comments. He and Jack had shared that in common.

“Yeah, well”, Wuya said now, before trailing off and throwing a nervous look to the driver’s mirrors at the teenagers in her backseat. “I need to know some things from you guys, about how you were treated at that station.”

A pause. “You know, like are they singling you out, specifically? Have they been following you? Anything like that.”

“They’re _definitely_ singling us out, ma’am”, Clay said. “But I kinda get it. We were Jack’s friends for a while but from what Patrick told me, they heavily interrogated the other kids in school about us so I reckon we were suspects for a while.”

Kimiko seconded that, but not without sighing. “Yeah, they’re definitely suspecting us, Wuya. But I don’t know about being followed. Omi, did anyone follow you?”

“No, at least not to my knowledge”, Omi said, taking his time to consider the possibility like it was a death wish come true. Knowing his independent search, Kimiko didn’t think the comparison was that off. She’ll have to talk to him about that. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, so that’s a group verdict”, Wuya said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

As they drove, going at a steady speed, Kimiko noticed Wuya’s hands grip the wheel tighter the closer they got to the station. When they were five minutes away, the woman took another look at the driver’s mirror.

“Before we go in”, Wuya asked, calmly. “Is there anything I should know about? Anything you want to tell me?”

Kimiko shook her head, immediately. There was nothing to tell Wuya about, really, unless it was about the river.

And even though she’d helped them before, Kimiko wasn’t stupid. Back then, they were kids who’d unexpectedly fell into trouble at every turn. Now, they were all nearly adults and definitely old enough to know what they’d been doing.

“No”, she said, after Wuya raised an eyebrow her way.

Clay, naturally, had the same idea. “No, ma’am. Nothin’ at all.”

After a silent moment, Wuya looked to the mirror again. “Omi?”

“I have nothing to say”, Omi said, shrugging. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear a third no.”

Humming, Wuya nodded and drove the rest of the way to the station. None of the teenagers needed to look at her face to know she wasn’t convinced in the least.

In a few minutes, Wuya would park and skillfully stomp her way into the police station and they’d all see the same expression she was sporting now. Lips pursed, eyebrows set into a deep frown, with her eyes perpetually disapproving.

* * *

Chase was smoking a cigarette when they called him. To be specific, he’d been in a bathroom stall in the second floor bathroom where no one went because, simply put, he just couldn’t be around people right now.

Raimundo didn’t do it. Chase was only half of sure of this and yet he’d still found himself torn between fully believing it or not. He could be wrong, he knew, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken about a case. Raimundo could have very well been an accomplice. And if he didn’t directly kill Jack himself, he might have told someone else to do it.

And, yet, Chase couldn’t write that down in his report without feeling like he was betraying everything he stood for.

Didn’t he promise himself to be everything Detective Zhao wasn’t when he took that test ages ago?

He closed his eyes and took another slow drag before the cigarette stub burned his fingers and he had to put it out under his shoe. But wasn’t forcing himself to believe the kid wasn’t guilty leading him to do exactly what Detective Zhao did?

He lit another cigarette. After he’d gotten that answer from Raimundo, about how some murders just happened for no reason, Chase knew he’d finally done it. He’d _finally_ broken the boy’s reservations and anything he’d asked after that would be answered.

So, Chase asked more about Jack. He asked Raimundo if he’d seen Jack again after the library. And then followed that by asking if the boys had fought. Did he punch Jack? Did they go to the temple together? Did Raimundo have the knife then? Did Jack know any sketchy people, people who would hurt him? Did he owe anyone money? Was he followed?

At that last question, Raimundo had slowly lifted his head off the table. For the first time since he’d sat down in the interrogation room, the boy looked truly desperate.

“I already told you everything I know. You said I get my phone call after so let me call my godmother.”

“Not now”, the detective had said, dismissing the possibility. That phone call could wait. If it happened now, Chase knew, any resolve he’d broken in Raimundo would be swiftly rebuilt.

“Well, at least call her! Tell them to call her—they know her number and—”

“I said _no_ ”, Chase said, raising his voice. He hated how he sounded but every time he closed his eyes he saw one thing. Detective Zhao telling the Huang family he couldn’t find their son’s killer. “Not until we’re done.”

“Aren’t we done?”

“No, we’re not. And there’s something you’re still not telling me. _Speak_ , Raimundo. _Speak_ so we can finally end this. If you do, the judge will go lighter on you—I’ll make sure of it.”

At that, Raimundo looked up at the ceiling, before looking back at the detective and surrounding all hope as his voice broke. “But I already spoke.”

And he hadn’t told the truth, Chase knew. Even if he hadn’t killed Jack, Raimundo still knew something.

Chase saw it in the way that boy’s mouth twitched and that smirk that _still_ sometimes came and went and the way he’d scratched his neck when he was unsure of a lie he’d just come up with. No one knew liars more than Chase did.

Eventually, though, Raimundo’s energy had burned out and he’d even stopped uttering his go-to ‘no’s to every question. He started shaking his head and didn’t bother hearing the question to the end. And that had reminded Chase of worse times so, eventually, he had to disappear.

“Detective Young?”, he now heard a voice say, timid and unsure. The front-desk officer, Ku. “Are you here? Detective Yi said you might be here.”

 _Of course, he did_ , Chase thought with an eye-roll. Now, he _really_ needed to talk to Yi about privacy. “Yes. What is it, Ku?”

“Um, Maria Choi is here, sir”, Ku said, nervously. “She’s—”

“Raimundo’s godmother”, the detective finished. The boy had said her name three or four times in the past few hours. “I know, I’ll be down in a second. Let her wait.”

“Uh, okay.”

Taking a deep breath now, Chase stubbed his half-smoked cigarette under his shoe and braced himself for the confrontation. He had to stand his ground and he had to be firm and unyielding but still show a touch of sympathy and support to the woman.

“Show that you’re a stickler to your duty and the law”, old Police Chief Tseng used to say back in Hong Kong. “But still show them you have a heart. That way, you have them in your pocket.”

Although he’d never particularly listened to any of that old man’s dated advice, Chase was rather fond of that tip. _Ms. Choi_ , he would say, firmly but not unkindly, _we found your godson’s fingerprints on the possible murder weapon and we’ll have to keep him until the trial_.

As he opened the bathroom stall’s door, Chase took a moment to chuckle at himself. Almost forty and still smoking in the bathroom like he was sixteen and hiding from the teachers and old Principal Cho with Dashi again.

 _‘People are going to think we’re doing something in here, you know’_ , Dashi had said once, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. ‘ _But I suspect they think we’re too close already. You know my mom has already given me the ‘it’s okay to be gay’ talk?’_

Chase had laughed then, quiet enough to not draw attention but loud enough to drown out his own nervousness. Back then, he’d just had his first kiss with Guan and avoided him for a week after. And he hadn’t known _or_ wanted to know what Dashi would think about it either.

‘ _You know that, right?_ ’, Dashi had said, again, giving Chase a meaningful look. ‘ _It’s okay to be gay. And you gotta accept all gay people because they’re literally the same as before you knew they were gay?_ ’

‘ _Of course I do’_ , Chase had answered, indignant and scoffing because he _did_ know and yet everyone seemed to question that.

Only a week before, Wuya had cornered him in their living room and asked him, very seriously with both eyebrows warningly raised, if he was homophobic. Because he’d _better_ not be. She had a friend coming over, Hong, and he was gay and so Chase better not make him uncomfortable or make any homophobic jokes.

‘ _He’s the only friend I have in that food court’_ , Wuya said, referring the new cashier job she’d had. The one she’d gotten right after she told Chase she wasn’t at all upset about wearing the same shoes for the second year in a row, with a sigh and a “shoes are actually overrated” speech. ‘ _He makes me feel like I’m not alone, you know?_ ’

And Chase did know because that’s who Wuya had been for him for many years. He’d never forgotten how they’d first met, at that Hong Kong orphanage all those years ago.

Chase’s father had just dropped him off before disappearing to die an untimely death and Chase had been understandably distraught. He’d lost his mother a year in an accident and now he’d lost his father, one after the other.

He’d been inconsolable, crying himself to sleep every night and refusing to eat in the mornings. Until one day, a girl with long brownish-red hair went to talk to him.

‘ _I’m Wuya’_ , she’d said, introducing herself with crossed arms and a glare. ‘ _And you’re the kid who cries a lot and makes everyone unable to sleep. You know we can hear you crying, right? Crying for your papa?_ ’

A pause. ‘ _We’re all here because none of us have a papa, you know. Or a mama either. You have to get over it so the old folk who come here will want to adopt you so you can leave. And you have to eat, too. I heard Miss Lam tell Miss Qi that if you don’t eat, you will die.’_

Another pause. Getting no response from him, the girl glared. ‘ _If you don’t eat, I will hit you, you know. I’m not joking._ ’

So, Chase ate because he was scared and hungry and someone was pretty insistent as they kept watch until he finished his plate. After he’d finished his plate, he extended his hand and yanked Wuya’s hand forward to shake it.

‘ _I’m Chase Young_ ’, he’d said, to the girl’s raised eyebrows. Something about her assertiveness made him feel like he didn’t need to cry anymore. ‘ _You wanna be friends?_ ’

The rest, as they said, became history. They weren’t only friends, though. They’d also needed each other.

Wuya, six years-old and already experienced in orphanage-living, had told Chase everything he needed to know and, in return, five year-old Chase had told Wuya a lot of animals facts he thought were cool and useful. That was just the beginning.

After this, Chase still needed Wuya to teach him how to tie his shoes and how to count to ten in Portuguese— _the nuns at her old orphanage in Macau, she’d explained, taught them the language ‘just in case’_ —and how to ask scary Miss Lam for things.

He’d then needed her to punch and kick and shove all those kids who called him names and pulled his hair and called him a girl.

And Wuya needed him too. She needed him to be the only person who saw her cry and told her she was actually awesome and pretty and not ugly like stupid Johnny Cho said she was.

And then she’d needed him to glare and call-out the teachers and house mothers who said that she was too ‘fast’ because she’d started wearing shorts and started growing up too quickly for her age.

For what it was worth then, Chase had never told a lie when it came to what he thought of Wuya, which was something she’d greatly appreciated. True, he’d never thought any girl was particularly pretty but when he said she was, he _meant_ it. The way she’d laughed and talked to him made him certain.

So, this is why it wasn’t particularly surprising that when the orphanage had to cut down their funds by sending some of the kids to sister-orphanages in Beijing, Shanghai, and Henan and Chen Wuya was picked, Chase Young was the first (and only) kid to volunteer to leave the orphanage.

Wuya, for what it was worth, never forgot that. ‘ _Don’t ever think that you’re my friend. You’re not my friend_ ’, she’d said when they reached Henan. ‘ _You’re my brother, Chase._ ’

‘ _And you’re the best sister in the world_ ’, Chase had said then, not thinking anything of it while he’d bent down to tie his shoes.

He’d say that sentence a lot over the next few years, too. When Guan called Wuya scary, Chase had glared at him and said it. And when Dashi’s parents asked if he had any family, Chase didn’t hesitate a second before saying it.

Even when Wuya had gotten emancipated and started living on her own and Chase was asked by the orphanage managers if he wanted to go with her, like she’d said he’d want, he still said it.

‘ _She’s the only family I have’_ , Chase had said then, sixteen and happy his sister had finally gotten her own place. ‘ _And you already know she’s the best sister in the world._ ’

Sighing as he snapped back to the real world, the detective tried not to think too hard about the days that had gone by. After all those years, even the world’s best big sister had eventually left. Twice.

The first time Wuya left was after Chase himself had skipped town and started succumbing to being every bad stereotype she’d had helped him avoid being. And the second time Wuya left was after she’d raced to the station to stare down and yell at Detective Zhao in a voice so guttural, he’d had no choice but to let Chase go.

‘ _You’re putting words in his mouth’_ , Wuya had screamed, her wild red hair barely held together in a ponytail, all but jabbing her finger in the detective’s chest. ‘ _You’re making up an entire report based on lies! Why? Because he’s an orphan with a bad rap-sheet so, of course, he’s a murderer?!_ ’

She’d paused, then, trying to finally catch her breath.

‘ _Why don’t you look at the people Dashi knew? Ha? Why don’t you look at all the new people who went in and out of the town, ha? Why don’t you look at the people Dashi’s family had bad business with? Why is Chase the only real suspect?_ ’

And although Chase and Detective Zhao had been in the interrogation room, supposedly isolated, Wuya’s voice had managed to break in, minutes before she herself nearly throwing the door off its hinges.

After he was released, Chase had finally seen Wuya for the first time in months. And he hadn’t known what to say or do, so he’d just hugged her because he was struggling to feel anything but relief.

Chase had made the worst mistake of his life by leaving, that much was clear. He’d finally let his insecurities and all his pent-up anger and suspicions finally get to him and in the process, he’d purged Dashi and Guan and even Wuya out of his life.

And when things got too serious for him and the consequences got all too real, Chase dropped everything and escaped and returned to his old life in that small Henan town. Only he’d found none of it left.

He hadn’t found Guan, who’d been on a trip to Guangzhou to check out a college there, and he hadn’t found Wuya, who he’d thought was far away in Macau. Chase had only found Dashi around, that first day he’d returned to find no one in Wuya’s apartment.

“She left a long time ago, Chase’”, Dashi had said, when the former met him by chance at the empty football court near school late into the night. Chase hadn’t said a thing to him, not even a greeting, but Dashi didn’t seem to mind.

“I know you’re probably looking for Wuya”, Dashi had said after a beat. “After all, _she’s_ the only you care about. You didn’t call Guan or me or even fucking Dojo, so obviously, you’re back for her.”

Chase didn’t like the way Dashi spoke to him, calmly and righteously angry with a mocking smirk decorating his every word, but he couldn’t leave. Not when he’d seen him like that.

Dashi had the faintest shade of a stubble and his eyes were bloodshot red with bags underneath and, even from a mile away, Chase could tell he was horribly drunk.

“I didn’t call her either.”

“You’re _lying_ ”, Dashi sharply said, before chuckling. “So what are you back here for? Your boss has a new job for you?”

“No, I”, Chase said, stuttering as he tried to consider if he should say something to his friend or not. “I left the gang. Actually, I ran. I—”

“Finally discovered you were working with an actual hardened criminal? Took you long enough.”

“It did.”

Although Chase hadn’t elaborated or apologized or even felt the need to do either, the two words he’d said were enough for Dashi’s patronizing smirk to fall and give way to a genuine smile.

The boy drunkenly stomped his way to his friend and hugged him, tightly grabbing him like he’d evaporate at any given moment.

“I missed you, asshole”, Dashi said, half-laughing and half-blubbering into Chase’s jacket, uncaring that he’d probably snotted it up too. “Guan was a mess when you left and Wuya…fucking hell, you made the toughest chick in the world _cry_.”

Hesitating at first, Chase hugged him back. “And you didn’t?”

“Oh, _fuck_ _you_! No, _really_ , fuck you, Chase Young!”

The rest of that night, Chase and Dashi walked throughout their town, enjoying and disturbing its past-midnight silence. They hadn’t stopped talking but they never spoke about anything serious, though both had half a mind to ask the other about just what the hell happened to him.

They spoke about Guan possibly going to that Guangzhou college and about trying to get in touch with Wuya and laughed a hell of a long time about little Dojo’s trying to be the school’s class clown.

They walked off Dashi’s drunkenness and unbridled Chase’s words because he’d had no one to talk to for months and joked about how they were both wearing the same black beanies Guan had bought them for Christmas.

Guan had only laid the Christmas schtick thickly that year, rambling about how all Hong Kongese people celebrated Christmas even if they didn’t do that in Henan, just so he could buy Chase an expensive beanie he’d had his eye on for weeks.

“Here! You need one too”, Guan had said, throwing an identical black beanie to Dashi. “Heaven knows we’ve had nightmares ever since you decided to show us the shape of your scalp.”

And although they’d smiled and joked and Wuya complained about Guan not buying anything for her, everyone knew Guan bought that extra beanie so Chase wouldn’t feel like this was charity directly aimed at him.

But Chase still knew and for once he hadn’t minded, mostly because he really liked that beanie and, well, Dashi had one too and that was leeway for a lot of twin jokes between the two.

When they both had the same beanie on, with Chase’s hair in a bun tucked into it, the two friends looked identical and Chase could forget they weren’t for a while. He could forget that Dashi had two parents and two older siblings off in college and good grades and a bright future ahead of him. And he could forget that he himself had nothing of the like.

“I forgot how much you looked like me in that hat”, Dashi said, casually putting his arm around Chase’s neck as they walked. “It’s like looking in a mirror except that you don’t look _nearly_ as hot as I do.”

“ _Sure_ , Dashi”, Chase said, rolling his eyes as he dragged his sleepy friend back to his house. “Let’s just get you home and call it a night.”

“No, no, no”, Dashi said, traces of his missing sobriety finding themselves in his voice. “I wanna stay with you. Let’s have a sleepover.”

“But I have nowhere to go, I was going to crash at some motel or something.”

“We can go to Wuya’s apartment. You still have the keys and she hasn’t changed the locks.”

So, sighing, Chase had accepted that suggestion and dragged Dashi the opposite way, to Wuya’s abandoned apartment on the shady street with the Wushu dojo in the bad part of town.

And once there, Dashi had claimed the couch and snored right away, while Chase had said ‘screw it’ and made himself comfortable in his old bed.

The very next day, Chase woke up to find the apartment door wide open with a broken vase he somehow hadn’t heard falling on the floor and one concerned neighbor looking in.

Try as hard as he could, though, Chase found no sign of Dashi anywhere. So, he’d thought maybe Dashi just left and was a little clumsy as he did and carelessly left the door open because, well, Dashi sometimes did weird things.

The more he thought about it, though, Chase saw the entire picture laid out in front of him. He’d ran away from the small-time crook’s gang and _didn’t_ leave the cash he’d taken for the operation he hadn’t done behind. Then, he’d returned to the same small town _everyone_ in that gang _knew_ he was from.

And then, he’d taken Dashi, who _looked like him_ in that beanie, home and now… _now_ , Dashi wasn’t here and it was very likely Chase’s fault. It didn’t matter if it was unintentional, Chase knew.

His friend was gone and never came back and it will forever be his fault. He’d _always_ be guilty. No matter how Guan tried to talk to him at the memorial and no matter how much Wuya hugged him and told him it’d be okay after he’d left the station with his name cleared.

It would always be his fault. Chase ruined the lives of everyone who entered his own. No wonder Wuya left.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, Chase snapped back to his present reality and reminded himself of what he was about to do. He had to be firm and soothing and determined. He had to do his job well.

He hurried down the stairs from the second floor and bypassed the interrogation room where Raimundo still was and headed, directly and steadily, to his desk. _Ms. Choi_ , Chase practiced again in his head. _Your godson’s fin_ —

But the person he’d seen sitting on a chair in front of his desk _wasn’t_ Maria Choi. No, the woman with the wild long red hair and black make-up, sitting there flanked by the three teenagers he’d suspected, was someone he’d never thought he’d see again.

He’d all but given up hope. “ _Wuya_?”

“Detective Young”, Wuya had said, nodding like she was used to seeing him every other day. “I think you know what we need to talk about.”

 _She’s not surprised_ , Chase noted, that thought breaking his all observations about how little his old friend had aged. There were little to no lines in her face and her hair was only dyed a shade darker than it’d been in high school.

 _And she’s_ _here_ , the detective thought a second later. _She’s_ here _, not in Macau_. _She’s here and her name is Maria Choi_.

“Yes”, Chase thought, clearing his throat and taking his seat. “Yes, we do, Ms. Choi. Your godson—”

“Is innocent”, Wuya cut in, slamming her open palm on the desk. “He _is_. And every procedure you’ve taken was largely discriminatory.”

Taking a look at Clay, Kimiko, and Omi standing behind his long lost friend, Chase raised an eyebrow. They’d all been standing, some cross-armed and others with challenging expressions, to hear this conversation.

“Can you please ask your company to wait outside, Ms. Choi?”

Wuya nodded. “Guys, wait in the car.”

“But _Wuya_ ”, Omi protested. “We—”

“ _Wait_ in the car, Omi!”

Sighing and taking a look at his watch, Clay left first followed by Kimiko, tightly pursing her lips, and finally, Omi, who sure took his sweet time giving Wuya a particularly poignant look.

“Now”, Chase said, clasping one hand on top of the other. “We can talk. Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Wuya ignored him and picked up where she left off. “My godson is innocent.”

“He’s not. We have his fingerprints on a knife that belonged to him and has the victim’s blood”, the detective said, growing more incensed by the second. “You have been gone for _twenty_ years. _Where were you?_ ”

“I’m only here”, Wuya said, looking him straight in the eye. “So I can take my godson home with me.”

There was no use, Chase knew. When Wuya got like this, with this fierce look in her eyes and the gnash in her teeth every five seconds, the really was no use trying to get her to see a point except the one she wanted to talk about.

“You are aware he’s under arrest”, Chase began. “Because we found incriminating evidence against him. We found fingerprints and DNA—”

“So?”, Wuya interrupted, tilting her head. “You found fingerprints on a knife that used to be his— _so what_? Isn’t that predictable, since it’s _his_ knife? Did you find anything else that could incriminate him?”

Pausing, she gave him a judgmental look. “Or are you just using the same tactics this place has used on you? Just pointing fingers at the town outcasts for any little mistake.”

“I’m not doing that”, Chase said, narrowing his eyes. He had the faintest feeling that he wasn’t telling the entire truth be he pushed on. “You know that I won’t ever do what they’d done to me.”

“I don’t know”, Wuya said, matter-of-factly. “I haven’t known you for years. Maybe you changed.”

 _And there it was again_ , he thought. ‘ _You changed, Chase_ ’. Well, he hadn’t changed _that_ much. He wouldn’t change so much he’d willingly do all that had been done to him. He tried to shelve away his other conflicting thoughts for now.

“I’m only doing my job”, Chase said. “I have the facts in front of me, Wuya. I can’t pretend I do not see them.”

“You know, this is funny”, she said, though she did not smile or laugh. “This is what everyone told me when I was defending you. They said the cops were only doing their job and that you were the most obvious suspect.”

“This is different—”

“Is it?”, Wuya asked, sharply. “This is the exact same thing, Chase, and you know it. With the exception that he’s black, it _is_ the same. Raimundo is not from here, he’s not like everyone else here, and he gets into some trouble so everyone brands him as someone capable of murder.”

A pause. “Does that remind you of anything?”

 _It did_ , Chase thought. He didn’t need the reminder, either. With every question and every turn, he’d already known why he’d been more than ready to report that Raimundo was guilty.

“I can’t let him go”, Chase finally said. “I’m sorry, Wuya, but I can’t let your godson just go when he’s arrested for murder and we have evidence to support that. I can’t. A kid _died_.”

Wuya held her ground. “You can. You haven’t mentioned anything other than the fingerprints so I know you can.”

Though she’d opened her mouth as if to follow her words by something else, she stayed silent for a minute. And then, with a nervous, trembling voice, she finally added.

“Don’t let it happen again, Chase. You _can’t_ let it happen again.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Chase was trying his hardest to make sure that all that had happened wouldn’t repeat itself. He wanted Jack to get the justice Dashi didn’t get and he wanted all the guilty people— _all of them_ , no exceptions—to get what they deserve. Forgiveness shouldn’t be this easy to get.

“I’m trying”, he said, sighing.

She didn’t hear that. “I can pay bail.”

“Wuya—”

“Let him go on bail, Chase”, she said, glaring now. “Just let him go and he’ll still be here for the trial. Just let him attempt to be normal until then.”

“Wuya—”

“I’m the _only one_ he’s got”, Wuya said, interrupting again. “His dad left him to me to raise and I’m the _only one_ he has here.”

That was the one line that really got to him. Chase knew that the minute Wuya said something like this, all while looking him in the eye so he can understand and see, he’d break.

“If he leaves town”, Chase said, keeping his expression flat. “Or commits another offense or complicates the ongoing investigation, we’ll detain him. _Be warned_ , bail is expensive.”

Smiling for the first time since she’d sat down, Wuya nodded vigorously. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Chase sighed before he asked one of the officers under him to get him the appropriate paperwork.

“But, sir”, Hu, the officer he’d ordered, said, shock clear on his face. “We can’t—”

“Do what you were told, Hu”, Chase said, raising his voice. After Hu bowed his head and left, much to the surprise of everyone else watching in pure disbelief, Chase turned his sights on Wuya.

“This isn’t over. We _still_ need to talk”, he said, eyebrows furrowing. “I hope you won’t forget that.”

Wuya shook her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s long overdue, anyway.”

Everything that happened after this passed Chase by in a cloud of abstract ambiguity. He zoned out and didn’t really zone back in, even when he made the report and printed and signed it alongside Wuya.

He didn’t even focus when Officer Hu dragged Raimundo out of the interrogation room only for the kid to see his godmother and nearly faint. He couldn’t really hear Wuya when she’d thanked him and left with the kid.

Chase had seen all of this happen but didn’t really see any of it. This consciousness stupor lasted all the way into the morning, when he’d made his way to the station even though Yi was clicking his tongue and Ku couldn’t meet his eyes and even the technicians he’d never really spoken too were giving him all sorts of looks.

And when Police Chief Cheng called Chase into his office, the detective still couldn’t snap out of it or wake up. At least, until his boss told him all that he’d been expecting to happen.

“You’re suspended until further notice, Detective”, Police Chief Cheng said, his expression unreadable. “And when you come back, you and I will have to talk about your future on other cases.”

Pausing, the older man gave Chase a look. “I hope you know you’re obviously no longer on this case, either. I’m giving it to Yi.”

“I understand, sir”, Chase said, lightly bowing his head, because he did. Honestly, if he was in Cheng’s shoes, he’d have done more than that. “You’re putting the case first.”

As if he’d somehow heard his thoughts, Cheng sighed, deeply. “Yes, but I’m also prioritizing you.”

He paused. “Look, Young. You’re bright and driven and, frankly, I like you…but I can’t risk you and risk everything in the process just _because_. That’s not wise.”

“I understand”, Chase said, nodding once.

“I hope you do”, Cheng said, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re not just going on leave. If you’re uncomfortable with our Dr. Yang, I recommend you see either Dr. Zhou or Dr. Jin. They’re all great at what they do, but be warned, Dr. Jin is pricey.”

“And what do they do?”, Chase asked. Stupidly the first thing he’d thought about was the back problem he’d been complaining about to Yi, but he knew this wasn’t it. “What do they do, Chief?”

Cheng didn’t sugarcoat it. “They’re therapists. You need one, Young, because you’re clearly unwell. You let a possible murderer leave on bail and because of your _fucking_ _paperwork_ , we can’t make a re-arrest without inciting public outrage.”

A pause. “I know this case is personal for you and I know there’s a chance you might have sympathized with the suspect but this kind of behavior isn’t one the station can condone.”

Giving Chase a final look, Cheng added, “We’re here to enforce and seek justice, what you’re doing is obstructing it. Do remember this when you’re considering your therapists—if you don’t, don’t come back at all.”

A pause. “Surrender your badge and gun before you leave.”

And Chase, for the first time ever in his life, simply did what he was told. There wasn’t much he could do here. All he could do now was try to make sense of all that happened and for that, there was only one place to start. The circus. He had to talk to Maria Choi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -....yeah


	5. Buried Treasures and Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the gang figures out what to do next, Chase and Wuya have a much needed confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: a reference to a homophobic parent, references to fatshaming.

They’d driven in silence, for the most part, after they left the police station. Clay, who’d been growing steadily more on edge with Omi’s constant fidgeting, hadn’t really expected that but, well, he’d never been in a situation like this before.

Usually, Clay would be the one being picked up from the police station. During those car rides home, he’d expect long-winded shrill lectures from Aunt Marcia and sympathetic-yet-still-bewildered looks from Patrick. And when he’d get home, Aunt Marcia would immediately get his Mama and Daddy on the phone to continue with all the lecturing.

Usually in a state of missing his mother, Clay would never mind talking to her. His father, though—that was always a different story. But this time, thankfully, it was a little different.

After Detective Young told her, Wuya sent them back to the car to wait and they easily went, save for some protest from Omi. At the car, Clay took his seat in the back next to Omi, while Kimiko went to get some soda from a nearby vending machine.

“I just want to know why we couldn’t even stay to listen”, Omi whined, half-heartedly. “We’re the ones who called _her_ here!”

Clay shrugged. “Some processes are confidential, little partner. I guess that’s one of those.”

He paused. “It might not even take that long, so don’t wrinkle yer brain about it.”

For once, the way things went didn’t actually prove Clay wrong in the end. Twenty minutes after Wuya sent them back to the car, she came out of the station’s door with Raimundo in toe, trailing behind her.

“That was quick”, Kimiko said, nursing her unopened soda can. She gave Clay a quick look, like she couldn’t believe he was right before taking another look at the approaching people.

Taking a look too, Clay tried to assess the damage but as far as he could see, Raimundo was fine. He was walking okay and he didn’t look beaten or… _well_ , he looked the same as he looked when the American teenager saw him being taken away.

“Oh, look”, Raimundo said, with a smiling voice and a tired face. “The entire Murder Squad is here!”

No one said anything to that or to anything else. Clay simply nodded to the now-released boy and so did Kimiko, though he didn’t acknowledge them both.

Omi pursed his lips. “Are you okay?”

Raimundo looked confused for a second, before he caught everyone’s eyes staring at him. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sighing, Clay crossed his arms as he watched his former friend open the door to the passenger’s seat and get in the car. _Fine_ , the southern teenager thought, _he so was not_. His hand shook unsteadily when he went to open the door and something about his expression was unsettling.

Try as he might, Clay could not feel satisfied at the other boy’s misery. All he could do was try to look as casual as possible while trying to analyze Raimundo’s face.

When he couldn’t, Clay shrugged. This was probably going to come up another time, so for now he’d just leaned back into his seat and tried to suppress any wayward expression. He wondered if being all-too okay with Raimundo being humiliated in school and arrested like that made him a bad person.

If it did, well, the cowboy honestly couldn’t care less. Raimundo never gave two shits about him. And there were some people no one could judge him for despising.

Even though Raimundo fell into that category, Clay still leapt out of his seat when the former frantically told his godmother to stop the car. An involuntary reaction he mentally cursed himself for moments later.

Now that he’d left the car, Clay found himself only a step behind Raimundo, who’d gone down on his knees and was now heaving like he was struggling to breathe or trying to throw up.

Maybe he’d acted a little too fast. No. Actually, Clay was _positive_ he was acted too fast because he’d literally only relied on instinct. When a person was in distress, his mom had drilled in him, you had to go and help, but—what was he supposed to do now? Pat his middle school tormentor on the back? Ask him if he was okay?

It was too late to deliberate, though, so Clay sighed. “You okay there?”

When he got no reply, he walked closer with one hand hovering uncertainly over his former friend’s shoulder. “Raimundo?”

“I heard…I _heard_ you”, Raimundo said, in-between heaves. Now that he was closer, Clay was certain the boy was actually hyperventilating. “I just need a minute…I’ll be okay—I’ll be okay.”

But a minute later, he still was not okay and Clay was getting kind of cold. As insensitive as he knew that was, he had to help so he could get back into the warmth of the car.

“Try breathing another way”, Clay said, offering Raimundo a lifeline. “Like, pinch one nostril and try to breathe like that, just through yer other nostril. It will make it better.”

Though he made no indication, Raimundo heard the other boy and shockingly did as he was told. A few moments passed and Clay so far heard no more strangled hyperventilating breathes, so he judged his tip worked.

Raimundo stood up and gave Clay a confused look, thankful but also silently asking him why he’d helped him. It reminded the latter of better times, earlier on, when they’d been actual friends.

But since Clay did not actually know why he’d helped the other boy, he could only shrug before briskly walking back to the car. He gave Wuya the okay.

Clay’s helpful advice and presence, though, were forgotten the very next day, when the four former friends met at Omi and Kimiko’s house and Raimundo barely looked at him when he walked through the door.

Although they’d all agreed they’d sit down at some point to try to solve Jack’s murder, none of them wanted to have that quote-unquote ‘ _meeting’_.

“Tomorrow”, Raimundo had said in the car, right before Wuya dropped Clay off. “After school, we’ll meet at Omi and Kimiko’s house. I think Omi has a lot he wants to say.”

That seemed to startle Omi back into the conversation. “What? Yeah…yeah, I do. We’ll talk tomorrow then.”

Now that tomorrow came, though, Omi seemed just as distracted as he was the day before. He’d been that way ever since he’d walked out of that police station, fidgeting and nervous with an eerie feeling of being constantly watched.

Nothing could shake that off him, too. Not when Raimundo all but ordered them to meet up the next day. Not when Mr. Jeong made a point of calling on him in class during a hard question.

Not even when Clay—first to arrive, despite the fact that Kimiko _literally_ lived in the next room—awkwardly commented that Ping-Pong was growing up to look strikingly like Omi.

“Well, you know”, Omi had said, failing to focus enough to find anything witty to say. Faintly, he noticed Kimiko walking into his room followed by Raimundo, who had oddly skipped school today. “Siblings and all.”

After he’d said that, Omi picked up his four year-old little brother, who was babbling off to Clay in a mix of toddler Mandarin and Japanese, and left the now-tension-filled room.

While Ping-Pong babbled, Omi sighed and thought about what people usually said about their similarity.

A lot of people mentioned that the brothers shared similarities in the eyes and mouth and some exaggerated and said that they look exactly alike. Even Omi’s father said that Ping-Pong was like a “non-Naija Omi”.

Huffing to himself at the thought of his dad, whose last call he didn’t pick up, Omi blinked before calling for his step-dad to take his brother. “We’re having a very important meeting upstairs. Please, don’t interrupt us.”

“You are?”, Uncle Tadashi said, crossing his arms. A suspicious look now crossed his face. “I didn’t get to see; who’s upstairs?”

Omi braced himself. He could only hope his step-father wouldn’t immediately kick their guests out. “Me, Kimiko, Clay, and Raimundo.”

“Odd gathering”, Tadashi allowed, crossing his arms now tighter. It was also the sort of gathering he’d never approved of. “Send your cousin down to get your snacks in ten minutes. Keep the door open.”

“I can get them myself, don’t worry”, the boy said. “But we have to shut the door—it’s an important meeting, like I said and—”

“ _Door_. _Open_ ”, his uncle insisted, giving him a sharp look. “I’ll be checking.”

And so Omi trudged back to his room upstairs, unease growing as he did. He stopped for a second before his door and that’s when he finally let himself think about what was bothering him. That strange man from last night.

Omi was positive he’d never seen him anywhere but something about him seemed familiar. He’d seen a face that reminded him of that man before but it kept escaping him. But that wasn’t what had Omi on edge.

What did was the fact that as he followed Kimiko and Clay out of the station, he’d passed by that man and heard him humming something familiar. _To serve our fatherland_ , that strange man hummed as he looked Omi in the eye, _with love and strength and faith_.

Naturally, that made Omi freeze. Ever since leaving Lagos, he’d never heard the Nigerian national anthem. Until that man, whom Omi took one look at and didn’t think was Nigerian.

Chastising himself immediately, Omi considered that maybe that man had distant lineage or that maybe he’d just taken the nationality. And yet that didn’t explain why that man was looking at him the way he did. Intently and bemused, like he knew something Omi did not.

It didn’t explain the knots in his stomach and how the hairs on the back of Omi’s neck were raised when he thought about that encounter.

It didn’t explain why that man kept reminding him of the older man at the library. Even though they looked nothing alike, something in their faces was similar—a vacant, haunted look that gave Omi the creeps.

But then again, as Omi knew. They had no shortage of creeps and weirdos in their town. Actually, it was kind of their trademark. Living here this long, he should have gotten more accustomed to seeing two of them in a row.

‘ _This town is a magnet for weirdos’_ , Jack told him once, grinning like that was unimportant info, ‘ _Some people are saying it was designed to attract them here—so the government can, like, monitor them, you know.’_

And Omi had seen countless people like that before, walking around with their vacant smiles and glassy eyes, but he’d never paid too much into it. The last person he’d seen like that was that old man, the one Dyr—

Shrugging it off, Omi opened his room’s door and went in.

“Good”, Raimundo said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He got up and went to the door. “We’re all here.”

“Uh, actually”, Omi began. “Uncle Tadashi told me to keep the door—”

“We’ll tell him we forgot”, Raimundo said, shutting the door and going back to take his seat on Omi’s bed, leaving an awkwardly big space between him and Kimiko. “So, I just wanted to say something.”

Pausing, the boy sighed. “We’re going to look into this whole thing. We need to find out just what the fuck happened to Jack and who did that to him. _Okay_? There’s no ‘we’re gonna think about it’ here—we’re _going_ to find out who did this because we need to make it stop ruining our lives.”

Another pause. He stood up and surveyed them now, a no-nonsense expression plastered on his face.

“I was arrested yesterday, you know”, Raimundo reminded them, incredulously. He waited a second before he scoffed. “ _I was fucking arrested_ and they didn’t believe _shit_ I said about anything and I told them _everything_ I could tell them!”

Seething, he paused again. “And that _fucking_ detective did his research too! He knows all about Dyris and he didn’t care how old and stupid we were when we met her—he thinks we could be _actual_ accomplices in this shit, that it could be a, a prank of some sort. Or some petty revenge!”

No one else said anything, but Raimundo kept moving his eyes between his former friends. At this, Kimiko and Clay shared a look, half-exasperated and half-amused. _Who was going to tell him?_

Catching that shared look, Raimundo misunderstood it and smiled. “They let me go now but they won’t stop trying to frame me…or you. You do now they’re hellbent on framing us for this, right? It doesn’t matter which one of us gets it.”

“That’s kind of obvious”, Omi began, trying to mollify the older boy and speak at the same time. “R—”

“You know, if they fucking frame us for this”, Raimundo continued. “You’ll go to juvie. For a long fucking time, too. They might even send you to jail after you’re eighteen.”

Though she was already suspicious at the way he’d been acting, Kimiko shot Raimundo a glare. “Can you just—”

“I wish I could say the same for you, Koko Butter”, the standing boy said, trying for a chuckle. He gestured to the blond boy. “You too, Kid Colt. But it’s probably going to be different for us, you know. First, they’ll extradite us back to our countries.”

A pause. “I’m not even sure if we’d be seen as accomplices or actual murderers but what I do know is Japan has the death penalty. And I know all states have different laws, but Texas still has the death penalty too—and I read online that even _accomplices_ can get it.”

“The shit you keep spouting out of yer mouth smells bad enough to gag a maggot”, Clay said, eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was happier to confront this than last night’s vulnerability—this, _this_ was easier to confront.

“On what grounds are ya even saying this— _death_ _penalty_ , Raimundo? What did I even do?”

“I don’t know”, Raimundo said with a shrug. “What did _I_ do? Because after my questioning last night, I realized that every fucking thing that happened was a consequence to something one of _you_ did—all I did was help you!”

“Oh, we don’t have enough time to get into everything you did”, Clay said, growing steadily angrier. This was just like him, wasn’t it?

Other than the steady stream of bullying, this was another reason why he couldn’t stand Raimundo back then. Nothing was ever his fault. It was always ‘I did this for you’ or ‘you got us into this mess’, _always_.

Pausing, Clay exhaled. “No one asked you to do half the shit you did, you know—I mean, _shit_ , who told you to get down and dirty at the river? And I didn’t do nothing wrong ‘fore you even try to throw the ball in my court. I got rid of a few stuff and—”

“No, _stop_ ”, Kimiko said, holding up a hand. Giving both boys an incredulous look, she continued. “Are we _really_ going to play the who-committed-less-felonies game? Because we’ll all lose.”

Shooting Clay a look, she added, “What are you even trying to do right now?”

“You should be asking him that”, Clay retorted, sharply.

“Oh, I will!”, Kimiko said, turning back to the other boy. “ _We_ skipped school yesterday to plan what we were going to do about your arrest. _We_ called Wuya and told her. _We_ went to the station to get you.”

Pausing, she gave Raimundo a look full of shock and disgust. “I fucking hid your shady shit for you and the minute you get out, you try to bully me into being on your side? _Really_?”

Clearing his throat quietly, Omi kept himself as still as possible and tried to remember if it was always like this back when they were friends. Most memories were fuzzy, but he remembered that sometimes, they had fun.

Sometimes, on days when they would just hang out or play videogames, they’d all laugh and joke around and it’d be a perfect day. Omi was positive that, on at least one occasion, they’d had singalongs too.

Other times, they argued and fought but did it ever get violent? Sadly, he couldn’t remember. Well, no, actually he did. There was that _one_ Ludo game…

Shaking his head, Omi focused. Logically, he shouldn’t even be trying to remember their old patterns to figure out when to step in. This was _stupid_ —they were all on the same side.

Realizing the three teenagers had now gone off-book and were dealing insults to everything, Omi knew he’d have to intervene soon. Some of the things he was hearing were a little stupefying, though.

“—wait till your family finds out”, Raimundo was saying, though it was unclear who he was talking to exactly. “You won’t even need the death penalty after _that_.”

“Enough!”, Omi said, finally unable to hear more of this. “Seriously. _Enough_. I don’t even know why you’re all fighting when we all just want the same fucking thing!”

Giving Raimundo a look, the youngest of the bunch said, “We all agreed, by the way. Yesterday, when we were thinking about how to save _you_ , we agreed we had to find Jack’s murderer. I get that you went through hell, you know, but you could have just _asked_ us to help you.”

Huffing now, Omi didn’t know what to say next. He was on a roll and it seemed like what he’d said was working because Raimundo had the decency to look embarrassed and Kimiko and Clay seemed to be on their way to feeling that too.

“Jack was our _friend_ ”, Omi said, repeating what had become something of a mantra of his.

He didn’t know why he was saying this, or if he should even say it, but it felt right.

It felt necessary to remind them all because they were all forgetting. It felt necessary to remind them of better times like swimming at the community center and pulling pranks and watching scary movies.

“We were all friends once. You can’t just forget that—you, you can’t act like it’s all _gone_ and that we’ve never had great times together before. We should not forget that. We used to be friends.”

“We _were_ ”, Kimiko agreed, breaking the ice first. So she was right—Omi had ulterior motives to bringing them all together. “But we’re not anymore. People change, Omi…but you’re right. We should be focusing on getting Jack justice right now.”

_People change_ , Clay thought, agreeing with that before he agreed with her out loud. “She’s right. We gotta do what we gotta do. Petty squabbles will help no one.”

Nodding because he knew their eyes were on him now, Raimundo agreed. His brain, however, seemed to be stuck on one thing. They skipped school because they wanted to plan how to get him out. They did that _for_ _him_.

Wracking his brain, Raimundo discovered he really couldn’t remember the last time someone did something for him just because they wanted to.

Not because he was who he was in school and people liked that or because there were threats involved or because someone wanted something from him. But because they _actually_ wanted to.

_They could just be saying that_ , he thought. Just so he’d be on their side for now. But then again, they could have framed him and gotten this nightmare over with. They could have sold him out and it would have worked. But they didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Clay’s jaw went slack for a moment before he shut his mouth but Omi, who was just was taken aback, spoke first. That couldn’t be right. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry”, Raimundo repeated, uncomfortably. “I was being a dick. I should have actually…thanked you instead bec— _what_ are you doing?”

“Feeling if you have a fever”, Kimiko casually answered, the back of her hand on his forehead. She was trying to hide her smile and failing terribly. “Looks like you’re fine.”

Though he _really_ didn’t want to, Raimundo took a step back away from the girl and shrugged her hand off his head. Until he figured out her motives and her recent light-fingered habits, he was keeping his distance.

“Let’s focus on the real issue here”, he said, going back to take his seat on Omi’s bed. Following his lead, Clay took the chair by the studying station and Kimiko took the farthest side of the bed. “We have a lot to cover, right?”

Omi stayed where he was then, after a nod, he stretched and went to his closet and brought back a white board that he left beside it. He propped the white board on the studying station behind Clay, who took his chair a step back, so everyone could see it.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph”, Clay said, though he didn’t seem all that surprised.

Vaguely, the southern boy remembered helping the younger boy with a family tree project and this seemed very similar to that. Just what else was Omi Hui-Badejo if not thorough to the point of being obsessive?

“Explain”, Clay prompted, after readjusting his hat.

“I will”, the youngest of the group said, standing next to the board like a teacher. “This is my, uh, murder Venn diagram.”

“ _Tch_ ”, Raimundo clicked his tongue, throwing the girl next to him a look. “This better be reliable.”

“He’s fourteen”, Kimiko redundantly said, rolling her eyes. “Cut him some—”

“I _am_ fourteen”, Omi interrupted, cheerily. “And I swear to every god you guys do and don’t believe in, if you bring it up one more time, I _will_ scream.”

Sighing, the boy gestured to the board and began explaining, giving them the same rundown he’d given Kimiko the other day, saving his new information for when everyone was caught up.

So, Omi began with the victim and what they all knew from the police press conference. Jack Spicer. He’d mentioned when Jack was found, around 12 to 12:45 when the police arrived. He’d mentioned how he was found—tied up, slashed, slit throat.

Among other details, Omi added one that honestly didn’t seem like that big of a deal. _He had a tattoo, police said_. Fairly recent, too.

He’d paused to let that sink in, trying to gauge out if anyone was curious too. Jack Spicer, notorious for his hypocritical hang-ups about body-art, had a tattoo. Omi then mentioned the degree of mutilation and burning Jack’s body was in.

When he got around to the ear thing, though, Clay stopped him.

“ _Nuh-uh_ ”, the American teenager said, shaking a finger. “You’ve read _way_ too many articles about this. You’ve probably gone off to the tabloid part of the reporting—y’know, the part that doesn’t care about how graphic the details are so long as they get paid?”

“I did”, Omi said, though he wasn’t proud. It spoke volumes about his thoroughness, but _still_. “And I watched all the reports I could find. This isn’t the issue here.”

“It’s not?”

“No”, Omi repeated. He pointed to the white board again, specifically to the photo of the teenage Chinese boy none of them knew. “That’s Huang Dashi’s photo. He went to our school a long time ago.”

A pause. “During his senior year, Dashi was murdered at the Shaolin temple—he was the first person murdered there. When they found him, they didn’t even take photos at first because it was _that_ gruesome.”

Another pause. Omi sighed. “He was tied up to a stake and he was slashed all over his body and he was blinded. He was even, _uh_ , set on fire for a period of time. And there was this weird symbol carved on his forehead too.”

“The cops said no one could even identify him at first”, the young boy added. “And look at the date it happened— _read_ it! It was like a week before Jack’s. Weird, right?”

“They should have demolished that temple”, Raimundo said a moment later, unable to say anything else. He’d already thought it was the creepiest place in town, but everything he’d heard just seemed to amplify that thought. “Or made it into a restricted zone type of thing.”

“Yeah”, Clay agreed, squinting at the board. “This creepy as all hell. It’s basically the same murder twice.”

Omi nodded and moved on to the next point. “Yeah, I thought so too but when I told Kimiko about it, she actually said it wasn’t the same thing.”

“Why?”

Seeing her cousin’s gesture, Kimiko took her turn. “I did some researching too—”

“She went on Reddit”, Omi clarified, a tad petty.

“So did you”, she retorted before clearing her throat. “Anyway, I found this one thread about Dashi’s case and in it, there was this comment—I’ll forward you the screenshot—that says something about how this was a great cold case and how it happened at that person’s school.”

A pause. “And that comment was posted around the anniversary of Dashi’s death so it just got me thinking, you know. Like, Huang Dashi was wearing traditional Shaolin robes and he had a specific symbol on his head and the day, September 13th, is important.”

“That’s Engineer’s Day in Mauritius”, Raimundo said, vaguely recognizing the date. Seeing the confused looks, he explained. “Our Wheel-of-Death guy is from there. Never mind. But why is it important to us?”

“I don’t know”, Kimiko said. “According to one comment some celebrate it as the Feast of the Cross, but I googled it and that day’s apparently celebrated on the fourteenth so…”

“Maybe some people do celebrate it a day earlier”, Clay said, shrugging. Thoughtfully, he added, “But cross…so like the stake and the whole crucifixion theme going on?”

“Probably”, she said. “Anyway, my point is everything was super planned but Jack’s murder isn’t like that. He wasn’t wearing traditional robes—he was fucking wearing a superhero shirt.”

She paused. “And he wasn’t blinded or had a symbol on his head—he just had his ear cut off by someone who probably thought it was a trophy.”

Another pause. “It was all so sloppy and then I kept remembering that creepy comment so I thought maybe someone was doing it as a sort of twisted homage and Jack was the sad fool he found.”

“So it’s just a twisted fan of this killer, like one of those Ted Bundy fan types”, Raimundo said. Keeping a close watch on Kimiko’s expressions, he didn’t see any of her tells. She wasn’t lying so far. “That’s what you think?”

“What I thought”, Kimiko corrected. She cleared her throat. “It takes a lot of guts to do something like that, you know. A lot of planning and anger, too…and whoever did it was an expert knotter because Jack was tied up so tightly he couldn’t even escape—like, they had fucking _Jack_ that well-restrained.”

A pause. “So then I thought that maybe whoever did it wasn’t just some weird fanatic but maybe someone who did all of this to pretend. Someone who had a thing against Jack and used this other murder as a cover of sorts .”

“So you, uh”, Raimundo said. Now, it _finally_ made sense. _Someone who had a thing against Jack_ , she’d said, two days after she made up an excuse to spend the night at his place. “You had some theories as to who?”

Kimiko shrugged, making a point of looking him straight in the eye. _Crap, he knows_. “Yeah, but they didn’t hold up.”

_Ugh_ , Clay thought, barely hiding his exasperation. Though he was vaguely aware of what was going on, he’d had enough of this murky interactions . “Who were you suspecting then?”

“No one in particular”, she said, her tone all but saying ‘end of discussion’. “Just some creep I saw Jack sometimes torment.”

“That’s about as believable as my Nana Cathy’s saying her Dolly wig is her real hair”, Clay snorted.

Despite his asking, it really didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together here because he did so while she was dodging his question.

Kimiko suspected someone but didn’t suspect them anymore. And Kimiko was just last night defending Raimundo after saying she did consider the possibility of him being the culprit. After they apparently had a sleepover.

“You could’a just told us, Kimiko”, Clay said, wryly. This was not the time, but it wasn’t an opportunity he was about to miss. “Next time, you go to… _investigate_ , just tell us so we could get you the right ‘precautions’.”

Looking between Clay’s knowing expression and his cousin’s seething glares, Omi pushed down his discomfort and frowned. This was getting worse. “Can we get back on track?”

“About time”, Raimundo added right away, uncrossing his arms. “Is that all you know, Omi?”

“Yeah”, Kimiko answered, not waiting for her cousin’s answer. “That’s—”

Omi chose that moment to interrupt, sheepishly. “Actually, I did some more digging on my own.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”, she asked, peeved but unsurprised. Aunt Jinglei had been being more passive-aggressive than she usually was and Omi had his phone and internet privileges revoked for now.

“Don’t take it personally”, the youngest boy said. “I mean, I just planned to tell you all together.”

A pause. Omi sighed, taking a look at his cousin’s less-than-pleased face. Yeah, she was not about to forget this anytime soon.

“I went to the library the other day, the old library downtown. And I, uh, I followed that detective around.”

“Stupid move”, Clay quipped. “But continue.”

“He wasn’t even my target”, Omi retorted. “But I was following…someone else and I lost track of them but I saw the detective going in and he went there to talk to the librarian, apparently.”

“Ms. Kang?”, Raimundo asked.

“Yeah”, the youngest boy asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know her?”

“You could say that. So what happened there?”

“Well”, Omi said. “I tried my hardest to eavesdrop but I couldn’t hear everything, you know. All I got was a few things, like the Spicers didn’t talk to the cops yet.”

“Predictable”, Kimiko said, nodding. “They’re probably hiding everything that could put them on the Interpol’s list.”

“Yeah, I thought so too”, her cousin said. “Also, I heard that Jack went there to read history books and stuff and that on the day he died, he fought with someone from your grade there that day.”

“You didn’t hear who?”, Clay curiously asked, while Raimundo looked on just as intrigued. “That’s probably our target.”

Omi agreed. “Probably but no, the detective didn’t even say a name or anything. He just showed Ms. Kang a photo of that person and she confirmed it.”

A pause. “I also borrowed the last book Jack was reading there, the Unabridged History of Henan.”

“Sounds boring”, Kimiko said. With a confused look, she added, “And unnecessary.”

“It’s incredibly dull so far”, her cousin agreed. “But it’s not unnecessary. This book, it was the very last thing Jack read and—I didn’t get to read it all the way through yet, obviously, but while I was flipping through it, I found a chapter on the Shaolin temple.”

A pause. “I’m not sure if there was anything about rituals specific to our town but I’m pretty sure we’ll find a lot if we look into it.”

None of them answered. And they didn’t need to. From their faces alone, Omi could tell they weren’t on board with what he’d implied. But he had to make them see what he was seeing. The more he’d thought about it, the more the link seemed unmissable. They had to see it too.

“It’s not _just_ a murder, like everyone thinks”, he explained. “Jack’s case is connected to Dashi’s. I know Kimiko says they’re not but I don’t know, I still think they are. All the rituals and the locations and Jack reading all about our town’s history—it has to mean something.”

“Why do you think that?”, Raimundo asked, keeping his tone oddly casual. “Did you find something while you were doing your detective work?”

Omi nodded. “Yeah, in all the reports, whenever they mentioned the witnesses’ testimonies, they all said Dashi was extremely paranoid in his last days. You know, always jumpy and twitchy and behaving like someone was following him.”

A pause. He repeated, stressing every word. “Someone was following him.”

“I mean, it sure rings a bell, Omi, that’s textbook paranoia”, Clay allowed. “But, I dunno, it sounds like you’re saying Jack was murdered by the same person.”

“I am, actually”, Omi said. It was the first time he’d said that out loud. He hadn’t planned on saying this but he’d found that he firmly believed it. There wasn’t even one lick of doubt. All his instincts pointed that way. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m saying.”

“Well”, the older teenager said. “Why are ya saying that? So what…this person kills once every twenty years? Ain’t that a bit strange?”

“It is”, Omi said. “But I have this theory.”

Taking a breath, he paused. He didn’t really have a theory. But now that he had to think about what the link could be, Omi was developing one.

“You remember how Jack always liked to snoop around? Always eavesdropping on conversations and telling us the town gossip before anyone else?”

Hearing that, Omi was answered by a few scoffs and eye-rolls. Of course, they remembered. How could they forget that?

Whether he was telling them about that Sanxian noddle shop being a money-laundering scheme or about Principal Cho’s affair with the chemistry teacher, Jack loved reminding them of that one saying.

‘ _Secrets are the only currency that doesn’t decrease in value’_ , Jack always said. ‘ _The more you know, the more powerful you are_ ’

“I think maybe Jack discovered something he shouldn’t have discovered”, Omi said, uneasily. “Like maybe he discovered who killed Dashi and that led to him being killed too.”

A pause. He could see it so clearly now. “And the killer did it the same way because they wanted to brag about not being caught after all this time or, or they wanted to say they could do it again and still get away with it.”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves”, Kimiko said, sighing. Given the opportunity, her cousin could link the BTS Army to the moon-landing and make it seem real. “Don’t get me wrong—that’s a great story, but it doesn’t hold up here. Jack was being followed, Omi. _That’s_ _it_ , that’s why he was paranoid.”

She paused. “And if there was something more, like you say there is, he would have told us.”

Clay agreed, though he wasn’t happy about it. Jack did try to tell him and every day Clay was more and more certain he should’ve listened. Jack tried to tell him a lot of things.

But Clay couldn’t bring that conversation or the name Jack mentioned and he’d forgotten right now—something told him he should wait. So, instead, he said something else.

“Exactly! And Jack was a mess the last time we saw him—being discreet wasn’t his best option then. ‘Sides, we have physical proof that the person following him stopped. That’s why we met up that one time.”

“And how are you so sure that person stopped following him?”, Omi asked. Noticing the looks they all shared, he prodded. “Just why are you saying it like it’s a fact?”

No one answered him, of course. Not like he expected something else. Moving his gaze from Clay, rendered speechless for once, to Kimiko, who narrowed her eyes with concerned suspicion, to Raimundo, once again with a poker face on, Omi scoffed. _Predictable_.

It was at times like these that he hated being younger than the rest of them. Being younger meant he wasn’t taken seriously and not being taken seriously meant Omi usually got scraps instead of full stories.

This was how it always was, wasn’t it? Being older now apparently meant nothing. They’d always see him as the Omi who believed their ‘ _laughing_ _gas’_ excuse when he found them all laughing with red eyes in Jack’s smoke-filled room.

Or the Omi who bought that Raimundo and Kimiko wanted to be alone sometimes to ‘ _work on a treasure map_ ’. Or the same Omi who never questioned why Clay took too long in the bathroom and believed his indigestion excuses.

And when he was finally old enough and got that _one_ phone call from Jack telling him to go to Ms. Wong’s, Omi had been so happy he went right away. And then his happiness faded the minute he’d heard the rest of them complain about Jack’s incessant voice messages and texts.

Raimundo sighed and broke the silence. “We just do. Jack made us threaten that stalker to leave town and he never returned, _okay_? I know someone at the train station here and I told her to keep tabs for me. That stalker is _not_ coming back.”

A pause. _Well, here goes nothing_. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not right, Omi.”

“What do you mean?”, Kimiko asked, scrunching her nose.

“I mean he’s right that this isn’t just a regular murder”, Raimundo said. “Something big is going on here.”

Hearing these words, the three other teenagers turned their full attention on the speaking boy, who felt a smile tugging at his lips. Despite the situation—or actually, _because_ of it—this felt just like old times.

Unlike old times, though, Raimundo didn’t know if he should say what he was about to say. He had to be extremely careful. One misstep and he’d probably implicate himself even further in this mess.

“You guys know Mr. Jeong Guan went to our school, right?”

“Well, he used to say it only half a hundred times in class”, Kimiko asked. If she wanted to, she could recite all of Mr. Jeong’s ‘ _when I was your age’_ speeches. “But what did that have to do with anything?”

“Only everything”, Raimundo said, shrugging. _To give a believable performance_ , his father once told him, _you had to be simple_. Casual with natural body language. Like you’re not you but someone else.

Although Raimundo wasn’t lying or acting right now, this was the only thing he could think of.

He had a gut feeling that maybe he shouldn’t be saying this, but that feeling was overshadowed by an even greater feeling of certainty that his theory had some truth.

Raimundo shook his nerves off. Then, subtly, he made sure he kept eye-contact with all of them as he spoke. Casual and simple and un-himself.

“Clay said he overheard that Mr. Jeong and Detective Young were at the same class, right?”, he said. “So that makes them both around, like, forty or something. As in, they were both here when that Dashi kid was murdered.”

A pause. “But only one of them left and the minute he comes back, another kid dies like that. Strange, isn’t it?”

“That’s a very serious accusation, y’know”, Clay said. He sounded a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected Raimundo to remember anything he said. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, at least.”

“Well, _duh_ , dumbass”, Raimundo said, shrugging. “What else would I be saying? Young killed that Dashi kid and he probably killed Jack because…I don’t know, maybe Jack found out, like Omi said.”

“That’s stupid”, Kimiko dismissed. Giving him a look, she scoffed before adding, “No, it’s _very_ stupid. So what? Jack magically finds out that that detective killed his old schoolmate and then that detective kills him instead of, I don’t know, tampering with evidence?”

She paused, giving the boy another condescending look. She really couldn’t believe she had to say this out loud, considering their histories. “Young’s a _cop_ , they do things like that. What are you, a rookie?”

“I forgot, _I_ am not from a family of crooks”, Raimundo said, chuckling humorlessly. “But you should still consider my theory, you know. Why else would the detective try to arrest me like that?”

Sharing a look with Kimiko first then with Clay, Omi shrugged. “We actually wanted to ask you that yesterday. Why were you arrested?”

“Why do you think?”, Raimundo easily deflected, as calmly as possible. He wasn’t stupid enough to mention the knife. Not now, at least. “They thought they had something on me.”

Clay scoffed. “Well, yeah, that’s kind of generally why cops arrest a person but what did they have on you, specifically.”

Shrugging, the other boy quickly found his way out. Now, all his acting would be put to the test.

“They found… _something_ on me”, Raimundo said. “This old incident in school—remember that year when I pushed Jack’s face into that locker?”

“Year Ten?”, Kimiko asked, nodding. How could anyone forget that, really? It’d been one of those few times Raimundo and Jack fought. Why it was important, though, she had no idea. It’s not like Jack never fought at school—fighting Jack was a rite of passage.

_He’s hiding something_ , she thought, though she didn’t really need to. It was _that_ obvious. And it wasn’t like he was the only one.

Kimiko could smell a secret a mile away and already could tell Clay was keeping a few. The way he opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide, was a tell. In a way, this made her curious and oddly jealous about not having a secret too.

Right now, Kimiko shrugged and continued, “ _Yeah_. So…they just discovered that and it was enough grounds to arrest you for murder? I mean, I broke his nose once and they didn’t take _me_ in again.”

She paused, raising an eyebrow now. Gesturing to Clay, she added, “You know, he and Jack physically fought last May and from what I heard, there was _actual_ blood involved. So why did they only take you?”

“Well, apparently”, the Brazilian teenager said, a ‘can you believe it’ expression all over his face. “When I’m the one fighting with Jack, it shows more ‘malice’ and ‘intent to kill’. Lovely unprejudiced people, the cops.”

In all actuality, that was not a lie. Ever since he’d moved to Henan, Raimundo had heard things like this and much worse. Even that last thing about malicious intent was something he’d heard, word for word, from Principal Cho.

_Last month_ , Raimundo remembered asking the principal, _Kimiko broke Jack’s nose—why wasn’t she getting this same treatment?_ Predictably, though, Principal Cho was silent, until he managed to push out that he’d called in Kimiko’s guardians.

“Okay”, Omi said in the present, though he was not convinced. None of them were, much to Raimundo’s scoffs and believable face quirks. “Then, can you tell us what did you find out while you were in there? Did you manage to hear something?”

“The detective didn’t tell me anything we didn’t hear in that press conference”, Raimundo said, shrugging. “Like, he mentioned some inconsistencies in my alibi but I mean…I couldn’t tell him I was out getting high, I’m _not_ an idiot.”

‘ _Jack Spicer’s throat’_ , Detective Young had said, at one point during the interrogation. ‘ _Was slit from end-to-end with your knife. Your knife, Raimundo, and you don’t have anything to say about that?_ ’

“He asked me if Jack owed anyone money”, Raimundo said, shelving that memory off and focusing on another. At that point in the interrogation, though, he’d admittedly lost track of time and was getting fuzzy in the head. “Because apparently his wallet had no money in it. Even his credit cards were gone.”

“That’s pretty exaggerated for a robbery gone wrong”, Kimiko commented.

“It is”, Raimundo said. “The detective even said that the credit cards were unused so far. And, he also said they found only one thing in Jack’s wallet.”

At that, he shut his eyes for a moment. Detective Young had done what he did with other evidence and showed him a photo of that lone photograph, the only thing that remained in Jack’s wallet when they found him.

Raimundo hadn’t even needed to take a look at it. He had a copy of that same photo, only his didn’t have all their faces cut off in what seemed like a fit of possibly homicidal rage.

“What was it?”, Omi prodded.

“It was a photo of us in middle school”, Raimundo said. “Around Year Seven, I think. But we—all our faces were cut off and only Jack’s face was still in it.”

“Well, that’s terrifying”, Clay said. He snuck a look at Omi, who seemed justifiably stunned, then at Kimiko, who had been a little too quiet at the revelation, and saw she was looking for something on her phone.

Looking up, Kimiko passed Raimundo the phone. “It was this one, right?”

“Yeah”, Raimundo said, after a beat. Though he should have been, he wasn’t surprised to see that she’d taken a picture. “It was.”

She took the phone back from him and handed it to Clay so he could take a look too. With the phone in his hands and Omi’s head peering at it above his shoulders, Clay now realized why his former friends reacted like they did.

It was that photo, the first one they’d all taken together. At that point, Clay had had an unfortunate scar on his chin and had still been around the same height, if not shorter than Jack.

Speaking of whom, the redhead had still his braces and hair that was two shades lighter. It’d been a rare occasion when he didn’t were his red contacts and his run-of-the-mill blue eyes shone through.

They’d both been standing side by side, Clay and Jack, both breaking the school uniform code by wearing different color ties and posing like they were twins.

Next to them, on Clay’s side, was Kimiko, her then-burnt hands making an appearance as she threw double peace signs.

And next to Jack was Omi, smiling brightly and blissfully unaware of anything too serious for him yet. Right beside him stood Raimundo, who although much shorter and scrawnier than he was now, still had the same confident smile.

For some reason, seeing that photo again did a number on Clay. It broke his heart a little but he controlled his face as efficiently as he could.

“I remember this photo”, Clay said, chuckling now. “Ashley Gatz took it, remember? Jack and Raimundo nagged her for a week to let us use her new camera.”

Kimiko laughed too. “Yeah and then we crashed her birthday party so we could hound her for our copies because she kept ‘forgetting’.”

Pausing, she laughed some more. “ _Yabai_ , she was so stuck-up! And remember how she was to Shadow back then? _God_ , what a—”

“I don’t remember this at all”, Omi asked, scrunching his nose. “When was this?”

“Well, we were in Year Six”, his cousin said. “So you were eight-ish, I think.”

Raimundo raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t Year Seven?”

“It was”, Clay said. “I remember we crashed Ashley’s birthday that year.”

“What? _No_ ”, Kimiko said, incredulously. “We were, like, twelve, weren’t we?”

“Well, you’re wrong, that was seventh grade and ya can hang yer hat on it—”

“Oh, _please_! Like, you remember what you had for dinner yesterday, Goldilocks. We were in Year Six and—”

“Cut the bullshit, Koko. He’s right, that was Year Seven and you have to learn how to admit you’re wrong!”

Realizing he was smiling, Omi shook his head as he tried to suppress his glee. They didn’t notice it like he did but his former friends easily fell back in their old rhythm, caught between laughing and perpetually arguing.

Seeing that, Omi felt happy, yes, but that was soon followed by an unequivocal sadness. Did it have to take Jack’s death—

“So, uh”, Kimiko said, still chuckling every once in a while and straightening her expression. The other two did the same, seemingly realizing what had just happened. The tension gradually returned and the smiles disappeared.

Clearing her throat, she continued, “Okay, you two might have a point. There is something shady going here. Jack—like, we all can agree that’s just not a simple murder.”

She took a breath and sent Omi a look. “You’re right. It might have something to do with that Huang Dashi kid.”

“I don’t reckon it does, personally”, Clay said, dismissively. “But, yeah, we should look into it. And I think we should be careful, considering all our faces were cut off out that picture.”

“That part could actually just be Jack’s doing”, Raimundo said with a shrug. “He hated us, so I could see him going all weird with our photos but yeah, sure, let’s be careful.”

With everything falling in line like he’d wished it would, Omi instantly agreed. “Okay, so….what do we do now?”

Moments like this weren’t rare in the four teenagers’ lives, even if they hadn’t happened in a while. Back then, they’d meet up whenever they had a scheme or a dangerous place they wanted to visit so they could see how their plan would turn out.

Naturally, Raimundo would be the one who ended up eventually taking charge of the whole thing but Kimiko usually tried to maneuver the plan her way, as did Jack on fewer occasions. Each managed to somehow get their way in the end, even if it didn’t seem like it. Even Clay was heard out, once or twice.

Being the youngest, though, Omi never was. Until now, at least.

“I think Omi should decide”, Raimundo said, though he knew they might regret this. Gesturing to the propped up white board, he added, “All this research kinda means you have dibs.”

Looking from his cousin to his other former friend, Omi saw them both nod and largely agree. He smiled now. He knew exactly where they should start but felt a little hesitant now.

Omi gave his cousin a questioning look first and saw her nod, reassuringly. “Okay, so I was thinking we should first try to figure out the identity of the person who visited Jack in the library, uh, and…”

“Yeah, we should probably do that”, Raimundo said, with a nonchalance that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. If he seemed less than enthusiastic, no one mentioned it. “And what?”

“Well, I’m a little hungry actually”, Omi said, scratching his neck. He tried not to focus on how his heart suddenly thumped in his head, nerves nearly blinding him. “So, how about we get a pizza or something?”

The other three shared a couple of looks at that suggestion. Today was a long day and it was only getting longer. They’d have to be civil, at the very least to each other. Maybe pizza was the way to that.

And if it wasn’t, well, they were getting it anyway. They’d all heard that faint stomach growl no one owned up to.

Kimiko shrugged. “Sounds good to me. I skipped lunch today, so I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I could eat”, Clay nodded after a beat. “So, are we getting it from the—“

“You’re not getting _anything_ ”, an exasperated Uncle Tadashi said, walking through the now-open door with a tray in hand. “You forgot the snacks and there is food downstairs if you want more.”

Handing Omi the tray, Tadashi gave them a look before sighing. “And keep the door open _or_ _else_.”

* * *

Chase did not find it difficult to go into the circus, which was unusual. He’d ordered that rookie cop to talk to Raimundo’s roommates because he wasn’t terribly fond of circuses.

Now that he had to go to one, his feet didn’t freeze at all. He’d felt like he was gliding and that strange coldness that rendered him numb since he’d let Wuya and her godson go came back again, in small waves.

Though he was suspended, the detective couldn’t walk about without his senses tingling all over the place. It’d been around midday, when the schools were in full force, and he hadn’t even called beforehand. Yet he knew she’d be expecting him.

And she was, somehow. By the time Chase had asked around and found her train car, Wuya was already leaning on the doorway’s frame with the train car door open. She’d greeted him with a nod and he was unsettled.

Though he’d spent all of his sleepless yesterday thinking and ruminating and remembering the past the present, Chase had thought that Wuya, overall, hadn’t changed. At least in appearance.

Now that he saw her up close, though, Chase realized there were a few differences. Wuya Chen, his childhood best friend and pseudo-sister, was an entirely different person from Maria Choi, whom he’d just met.

For one thing, Wuya Chen, his Wuya, never overdid it with the theatrics. As unbelievable as it sounded, that Wuya was loud and angry and showy but it never felt theatric. That was the first thing Chase could think of when he saw her in the circus for the second time after twenty years.

In his defense, she had a crow now, though. She noticed his staring too.

“It’s just for the gig”, Wuya said, attaching the bird cage’s now-filled feeder again. “But Ying-Yang’s very friendly, you know.”

“Ying-Yang”, Chase repeated, slowly. For some reason, he felt infinitely stupider in the train car and with every passing thing she said, that feeling compounded.

“I wasn’t the one who named her”, she said, rather sharply. “Don’t judge me.”

_Don’t judge me_ , he repeated yet again, though this time only in his head. What was he here for exactly, if _not_ to judge her?

He almost told her that out loud but the words didn’t budge. They all felt too fluffy in his mouth, however he switched their order. Instead, Chase tried to make sense of it all, out loud.

“So, you’re a fortune-teller who has a crow with a plastic third eye and its name is Ying-Yang”, he said, matter-of-factly. “And you live here with a clown and a contortionist.”

A pause. “Believe it or not, this actually explains a lot about your possibly murderous godson.”

“He’s not a killer—”

“I said ‘ _possibly’_ , didn’t I?”, the suspended detective said, taking another onceover at the place before choosing to sit on a futon. He didn’t feel too comfortable about the dressers’ chairs. “How else can I describe him?”

Wuya sighed and made her way to a table at the end of the room. There, she filled the electric kettle with water and turned it on.

“You read his file but you don’t know how to describe him? You can try smart, ambitious, funny—it’s all there, already”, she said. “Green tea?”

“Sure”, Chase said, nodding. He didn’t know about ‘ _ambitious’_ or ‘ _funny’_ , but ‘ _smart’_ …well, he’d admit it. “When you’re done, maybe you can stop stalling so you can sit down to talk.”

“That’s not a question”, Wuya commented at his, but didn’t protest. After the kettle switched off, she poured the two cups and carried them to the futon where Chase sat.

At her silent look, he dragged a small trestle table so she could set the tray. Realizing what he did a moment after he’d done it, Chase almost smiled. She didn’t even talk and the look she gave him wasn’t meaningful and yet he understood her. Like no time had passed.

“You don’t have to worry”, Chase said. He took his cup then put it back, cursing himself for his now-stung fingers. “I got suspended so, really, I’m no threat. You don’t have to hide anything or _anyone_.”

“I’m not hiding anything, just being a little cautious”, Wuya said, shrugging. She didn’t apologize for his suspension. Instead, she scoffed and added, ” _Now_ , who’s stalling?”

“Don’t—don’t do that”, he said, immediately, not even bothering to hide his expression. Any disgust or ill-feelings he’d try to hide would show up in his tone anyway. “You can’t just disappear for twenty years then magically pop up like you _just_ came back with groceries.”

Chase took a minute to analyze his old friend’s face after that. Wuya wasn’t wearing the dark, heavy makeup from last night. Her face was completely bare and brown and painfully like the face still present in Chase’s few photos of her.

Save for some barely-there smile crinkles around her eyes, Wuya hadn’t really aged. If she put her hair up and furrowed her eyebrows, Chase would have thought he was back in that night again. When she’d gotten him out of the station and hugged him and took him back to the rented motel room after.

‘ _You stay here and rest’_ , Wuya had said, when a full day had passed and they’d heard Dashi’s memorial was the next day. _‘And I’ll go get us some groceries so we could cook something to eat. You need the food._ ’

That’d been the one time Chase hadn’t argued about going grocery shopping with her so, of course, that’d been one of her longest shopping trips yet. It was actually the one she never returned from.

“How long have you been here?”, Wuya asked. So, she wasn’t even going to acknowledge that last thing he said? “I only found out you were back last night but I’m assuming you’ve been here for a while.”

Chase tried not to scoff. If anyone should be asking anyone anything, it should be him. But he could play the diplomatic until he knew what he needed to know.

“A little more than a month”, he said. “What about you? How long where you back here for?”

“I’ve been back for”, she began before she paused. Sighing, she spoke again, “For six years, give or take.”

“Six years and—“, Chase said. He _knew_ this. How could he not when he’d interrogated Raimundo, who couldn’t have gotten here alone? But even though knew this, it was now just hitting him. Six _whole_ years.

“And—does everyone else know you’re here?”

“I haven’t really spoken with Dojo or anything”, Wuya said, shrugging. “But he and his uncle know I’m here. So does Guan. We, uh, we keep in touch…but that’s mostly because he used to teach my godson.”

“Guan”, Chase repeated, feeling strange and uncomfortable _. But he heard me say I missed her_. _But he asked if I had any sign of her_ , he thought. _But he kiss_ — “Guan knows you’re here?”

Nodding, she furrowed her eyebrows at his expression. “He didn’t know it from the start. I bumped into him a couple of years ago, in the mall’s parking lot. Our kids used to be friends.”

Now, Wuya smiled. Presumably at a memory Chase did not know. Knowing what he knew, Chase didn’t see how Alisha Zhang could have ever been friends with Raimundo Pedrosa. Then again, that was how life worked, he supposed. _Friends one day, the next not_.

It didn’t take much for quiet shock to turn into anger again. Chase couldn’t help but remember that night back at Guan’s. He’d thought it was too odd that Guan was as tight-lipped as he was when they were talking about their old friends. Mostly, he’d let Chase take the lead in that conversation.

_I should have asked more_ , Chase thought, _I knew I had to_. But he couldn’t. He thought the shared history and the disappearing and the vicious murder were too painful for them to discuss. He thought that Guan didn’t want to remember the painful history they shared after all this time.

He didn’t think Guan knew where Wuya was all along. Did he know it from the start? She could have been lying. He could have been in contact with her for all those years.

_He knew it; he knew I need her and pretended not to know_. That was the only thing Chase could think right now. That thought just wasn’t leaving his head. Guan didn’t care enough to tell him before brushing it off and talking about other things and kissing him once like he meant it.

And he wasn’t the only one who knew it either. Wuya said Dojo knew and since Dojo knew, so did Mr. Fung. So did the entire world probably. But Chase couldn’t be angry with them. He knew Mr. Fung would turn it into something philosophical and Dojo would tell say something like ‘ _well, you didn’t ask’_.

But it was different with Guan. With Guan, this was betrayal. He hadn’t known Fung or Dojo like he knew Guan.

“Chase, are you okay?”

At that, the suspended detective raised his head. He gave his old friend a cold business smile. “Okay, so tell me, where were you before you came back?”

“Around, I guess”, Wuya answered. Squinting, she tried to read more into his expression. “I went to Macau first then I went to Portugal. In Portugal, I got in touch with this oracle and she told me she was offering this apprenticeship.”

Despite himself, Chase rolled his eyes. Intensely superstitious at times, Wuya had always been an avid fans of astrology, tarot cards, and good-luck charms and symbols. Still, that didn’t mean she’d go all in.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking this whole witch thing seriously.”

“Don’t disrespect things you just don’t understand”, she retorted, automatically, like she’d done a million times before. “Anyway, she told me I’d have to join this circus for the apprenticeship. So I did and I met them when they stopped in Chile.”

“Okay and—”

“My turn, actually”, Wuya said, cutting him off before he could ask. “Where did _you_ go?”

“Hong Kong”, Chase said, curtly. He said nothing more. It didn’t take much for the disappointment to settle on Wuya’s face.

She wanted more, he could tell. She wanted to hear him talk about how it was like going back to Hong Kong or if he’s visited the columbarium where his parents’ ashes were. She wanted him to talk about finding a place for himself and how he was.

Chase frowned at that. Wuya wasn’t warranted these answers anymore. Clearing his throat, he began.

“And you’re a godmother now”, he said, awkwardly. It was stifling talking to her like this, like he was making small talk and not dying to tell her to give him all the answers he needed.

Wuya nodded. She seemed sad but quickly brushed it off. “I am. And you’re dying to know how and when and where, I know.”

A pause. “I met Thiago Pedrosa at that circus. He was one of the first friends I made there. And he had one of his kids with him, but apparently they didn’t get along well.”

When he didn’t comment, Wuya added. “Thiago’s a perfectionist and Raimundo couldn’t handle that. And at one point, Thiago found a better opportunity so he was leaving, but Raimundo didn’t want to go—”

“So, his father just left him in your care?”, Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Well, no, of course”, Wuya sharply retorted. “It wa a whole thing. Thiago spent weeks trying to convince the kid to go with him but at that point, Raimundo was on the edge of a breakdown…so his father decided to leave him with Salvador at first.”

“Sal—"

“Salvador Cumo, a knife-thrower in our circus”, she said, cutting him off with the explanation. “He’s a really great person but—he’s never raised kids, you know, and he was a walking advertisement for the bachelor lifestyle so I couldn’t just let him raise Raimundo.”

“And you asked Raimundo’s father to make you his guardian”, Chase continued, though he didn’t need to. Something about the story made him feel uneasy. “Quite frankly suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”, Wuya repeated, dumbfoundedly. She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you don’t just take a child in like that”, he said. The knot in his stomach was now uncomfortable. But he was right, wasn’t he? _No_ _one_ did things like that. “You took him in based on what, an instinct?”

“ _Huh_ ”, she said, scoffing mostly to herself. “You know, of all people, _you_ shouldn’t be surprised I wanted to become the kid’s guardian.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Chase asked. The knot was tightening so much, he now felt nauseous.

“You know”, Wuya said, crossing her arms. “Because you know what happens to kids without parents, Chase.”

Though he was ready to argue with whatever she said next, Chase held his tongue. Wuya was right. He _did_ know what happened to parentless kids. They grew up alone and were lonely and made bad decisions.

No one looked out for them so they were always scared. And when they went home, most of the time no one was there. Chase was as familiar with that narrative as he was. And yet—

“So do you”, Chase said, answering her rhetorical question. “You _knew_ what happened to kids like me and you left.”

A pause. “You can tell me why you left, at least. You owe me that much, right?” Another pause. “Don’t you?”

Pausing, the detective noticed the soreness of his throat and cleared his throat. He shouldn’t have raised his voice now. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help anything.

Something about seeing Wuya again, talking to him and even joking and smiling and reminiscing, made Chase revert to his old young self. She wasn’t even answering any of his questions. Not any of the real ones, anyway.

Unable to help himself, Chase stood up and paced in place. He ran his hand through his hair and gave her another look.

“I was so alone, Wuya. I had no one—I fucked up but I was a kid and you were my only family. You left me.”

“ _You_ left first”, Wuya said, eyes red-rimmed. She’d spoken sharply and her voice broke, like she’d turned back time too. In a flash, she was nineteen again. “It was supposed to be always us, but you didn’t care about that when you left, right?”

A pause. “You were _always_ going to leave. Even if you didn’t run away like that, you would have left with Guan.”

“I would have stayed for you”, Chase said, crossing his arms. He wasn’t all too sure about his words but he still said them. At that moment, he fully believed them. “If you asked me, I would have—”

“I didn’t _want_ you to stay, asshole”, Wuya said, scoffing in spite of the situation. “Not for me or for anyone. It just—if you hadn’t let everything everyone said about you become true and you just stayed and left with Guan, I wouldn’t have minded.”

A pause. “I would have gotten over it. But you didn’t do that.”

“I disappointed you”, Chase said, finishing that sentence. He knew it was true because it was. _You’re not who they say you are_ , Wuya told him after every disciplinary Principal meeting. _They just hate us because we’re not like them_.

And what did Chase do with all her advice and love? He didn’t know what to say after that last thing and it was clear that Wuya didn’t either. Her eyes were flitting every few seconds to the door, anxiously, and it reminded him of her voice and the pattern of her fists knocking on that room’s door.

“You—I always regret not opening that door.”

He paused and took a deep breath. He hadn’t even admitted that to himself yet. Whenever he thought about Wuya, he’d only remembered the last time. And the last time always brought memories of Dashi, too.

“If I knew it was the last time I could have seen you and talked to you”, Chase said. “I wouldn’t have left you out there.”

Wuya shrugged. “You did. I told you I was leaving.”

_And I don’t fuck around_ , Chase completed that sentence in his head. He almost smiled at how silly that was but Wuya always finished her threats like that. ‘ _I’m warning you, the Pepsi in the fridge is mine—I’m not fucking around’_. ‘ _Be late out, stay out and you know I don’t fuck around’_.

“I didn’t think you would do it”, he said, after a beat. “Call it hopeful or stupid, but I thought you’d be home when I came back.”

“Stupid”, she said. “What, it didn’t cross your mind that other people had lives? Or limits?”

Pausing, Wuya gave him a curious look. “It was too much, Chase. I couldn’t stick around to see you self-destruct when I have tried so many times to stop you from doing that.”

Another pause. “I just couldn’t go back to that motel room because I knew everything was going to go back to the way it was—it was too much and I had my limit.”

_So that answers one thing_ , Chase thought. He shook his head. Right now, he felt a lot of things. Anger was still present but so was confusion and sadness. Embarrassment and guilt, too. He had to explain.

“I was going to come back”, he said. “I was _always_ going to come back. I just left because…because everything felt hopeless, you know? Guan and Dashi, they were both leaving me behind and I had—I thought I had no one.”

“You had _me_!”

“I know—I know that now”, he said, unable to say it louder. A pause. “You were the reason I left that gang, Wuya. I left because I wanted to go home and find _you_ , but I didn’t. And I was worried but…but it was like you couldn’t wait for me to leave, so you could disappear.”

“I wasn’t even gone then”, Wuya said, sharply. She sounded as ticked off as she looked. Blinking, the anger in her eyes was replaced with a desperate sadness. “Why didn’t you ask Hong about me?”

Because Chase didn’t know why, he shrugged. Selfishly, he’d thought Wuya only had him like he had her. Hong hadn’t crossed his mind even once. Would anything have changed, if he did? Would Wuya have stayed? Would Dashi—

“You weren’t home and you said you were leaving. Didn’t you leave? Where were you?”

“I did—I left”, she said, stammering a little. Her discomfort leaked through her teeth. “But not completely…I got into some trouble after you left and I had to stay low for a while so I stayed hidden. Only Hong knew where I was.”

A paused. “And after you came back and I went out of hiding, I just couldn’t…couldn’t stay home. It reminded me too much of all the bad things and I didn’t want that anymore.”

“I always wondered”, Chase began, finally answering a question that sometimes still to him. “Why we stayed in that shitty motel room that night.”

After they’d left the police station, Wuya and Chase had walked the long way to that motel. It was the only one in town and it was on the outskirts so that was some distance away from the station.

Chase hadn’t noticed, though. Chase hadn’t noticed anything. Dazed and confused, all he could think about was the photos Detective Zhao had shown him. Dashi, dead. Dashi, tortured and brutalized almost beyond recognition.

Chase wasn’t even sure he was walking. Wuya was walking and her arms were around him, supporting him as he walked like a stubborn human cane. The only sign she was there and not actually a figment of his imagination was her ragged, almost hyperventilating breaths.

When they’d finally arrived at that motel, Chase was broken out of his trance solely by the smell. There was something pungent near that place.

Dashi might have said it smelled like cat piss and Chase and Guan would have mocked him. _And how do you know what cat piss smells like, Dashi_ , they would have asked.

“You know”, Chase said, blinking himself back to the present now. “When I got back, I found no one. I didn’t find you or Guan and even Dojo’s number wasn’t working. I only found Dashi and that was by accident.”

A pause. “He was drunk but he was still coherent to a point. You know, like when you’re too drunk to stand but you can still talk properly? He was like that.”

_Wuya left a long time ago_ , Dashi said. Then he’d also said that she still hasn’t changed the locks. Chase scoffed, now. That little shit could have known that Wuya was still there but just wanted Chase to himself that night. And that got him killed.

“You can’t still blame yourself for that”, Wuya said, giving him a sympathetic look. “It’s been twenty years, Chase.”

For a moment, the suspended detective was afraid he might have said what he thought out loud. But it must have been obvious, painted on his face, anyways.

“That’s not a long time when you’re guilty”, Chase said, smiling a tight resigned smile.

“We’ve been over this already”, Wuya said, like it was just yesterday. In a way, it was. “You’re not guilty of anything. Someone else killed Dashi.”

“Because of me”, he said, automatically. “Because of the money I took, they wanted me to pay—”

“Fuck the money you took”, she said. “You—”

“ _No_ ”, Chase said. He shook his head again, no. She didn’t get it yet. She was wrong about him. _Still_ wrong about him. Knowing him was bad luck. “I haven’t slept in years.”

He didn’t know why he said that but he did. Turning around, the suspended detective tried to make like he was going to look through the window but suddenly his legs couldn’t support him.

Begrudgingly, Chase sat back on his futon.

“I’ve been on sleeping pills ever since that night but I had to quit them a few years ago”, he began. “It was becoming a dependence. But when I quit them, I couldn’t sleep. I _still_ can’t sleep. Every time I sleep, I see Dashi.”

“And what does he say?”, Wuya asked, leaning forward. Her hands twitched like she was about to hold his hands but changed her mind at the last minute. “What does he tell you?”

Chase shrugged. “He says I changed. Sometimes, he mocks me for it.”

“That’s like him”, Wuya said, mouth twitching into a smile.

“And he says it’s my fault. He says it shouldn’t have ever been him. It should have been _me_. I fucked up, so it should have been me.”

“Chase, that’s not—”

“I lost everyone that night”, he said, cutting her off. “ _Everyone_. I already lost Guan and I lost you for the second time and I lost Dashi. We _all_ lost Dashi but it was because of me. If I hadn’t returned, he would still be alive.”

Wuya blinked once. She sighed. “Don’t tell me you believe in that shit. Why would Dashi be alive if you hadn’t come back? Dying at that time, dying like that…that was his fate and fate never changes.”

A pause. “You can’t keep living with this guilt, Chase. It will eat you alive. You have to accept that it wasn’t your fault he died—you had nothing to do with it.”

“How do you know?”, Chase asked, with a self-deprecating laugh. “They followed me here and they must have thought he was me. If they didn’t, then they just did that to hurt me.”

Wuya shook her head. “Then, you didn’t follow the investigation well. Guan tipped them about your old boss and they investigated him. There were no signs of gang involvement. It’s not your fault.”

_But wasn’t it, though?_ Everyone had already thought it. At the memorial, when they all lined up and crowded around the vacant spot in front of the Shaolin Temple where Dashi’s portrait and flowers were, Chase felt the eyes on him.

They were silent, though. At least they were silent and judged him in that silence. They said of course, nothing good came from his return. They said it should have been him. Not Dashi, who still had so much to offer the world.

Chase felt those stares come from Dashi’s parents, in front of him, and Guan, right next to him. Even Wuya, who was not there. He felt her condemning gaze on him, too.

“But it feels like it is”, he said, refuting Wuya’s last words. “Why else does Guan still blame me? Why else would you leave?”

“I left because I was a kid, Chase, just like you”, Wuya said. Softly at first, before she coughed. “I was only a year older than you and I didn’t know _who_ I was or what I wanted—but I was trying to be your mother. And I couldn’t help you and I panicked and I left. I know better now.”

Taking a minute, she looked him in the eye, long and hard. Sighing to herself, Wuya reached out and put her hand above his, trying to reassure him in any way.

It was warm and a little awkward but Chase focused on the warmth. He focused on Wuya’s sharp no-nonsense gaze and her words just as much. He could use any vindication he could find. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

“And Guan doesn’t blame you for Dashi’s death. No one does.”

“He does. He didn’t tell me where you were because he does. He never reached out because _he_ _does_.”

“No”, Wuya said, shaking her head. “Guan’s...more complicated than that. He’s just like you, Chase—he feels guilty about everything.”

She paused. “In his eyes, he was the only one Dashi had here and he still couldn’t help him. And he couldn’t get you to stay both times you left. Guan couldn’t help you or Dashi and he never forgave himself for that.”

Another pause. “You know that’s part of the reason why he adopted Alisha, right? Guan always wanted to be a dad, I know, but he still felt so guilty he couldn’t help but adopting the first Hong Kongese kid he saw.”

Wuya’s words were too good to be true. And if they were, Chase didn’t want them to be true at all. He’d lived more than half his life with this burden, this stifling guilt.

And he didn’t want anyone else to ever know what that was like. Not Mr. Fung, who did not know what answer to give Dashi that day, and not Guan, who thought he could have done something.

“I can’t”, Chase sputtered out finally, struggling to find his words now. He felt like a child but they kept escaping once on the tip of his tongue. “I can’t let this go, Wuya.”

A pause. “If Dashi didn’t die because of the stupid shit I did, then he died because he was with me. He slept on the couch outside and I was in the bedroom, but he was the one taken. _Why_? Why did they take—”

Chase couldn’t finish his sentence. His throat had finally gotten so thick with strangled breaths and tears and he could no longer speak. But Wuya understood him. _Why did they take him and not me? It should have been me, it should have been me_.

Wuya took her hand off his, then. Instead she grabbed Chase’s face with her two hands and made sure he could see her clearly. She didn’t say anything at first, not for a moment, before speaking.

“You’re not guilty of anything”, Wuya said. “Especially not living. You did not kill Dashi, Chase.”

Chase, unable to look away from his old friend despite how much he wanted to, couldn’t agree. It felt horrible to know things could have been different. After all these years, it still felt horrible to be alive when someone he loved wasn’t.

“I killed him when I stayed alive and he didn’t”, Chase said, matter-of-factly. “And you don’t know how that feels.”

Wuya simply smiled and it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t I?”

_Shit_ , he thought. He did it again and ran his mouth before considering his words. This wasn’t exactly a pleasant topic but somehow Chase fucked it up even more.

“I’m so—”

“Save it”, she said, holding one hand up.

Although Wuya’s expression ran cold and he couldn’t read her anymore, Chase knew what she was thinking about. He’d never forgotten it when she told him, the first time around all those years ago.

_My hair’s like fire_ , a very young Wuya told him once in the Hong Kongese orphanage, _because I was in one—my old orphanage in Macau burned down, you know_. And to that, an equally young Chase had no responses.

It’d been understandable then, not having answers, but as they grew up, Chase discovered it hadn’t just been his young self. He truly didn’t know what to say to Wuya.

When she told him she still dreamed of the fire sometimes, he’d be silent. When she said she always felt suffocated by smoke he couldn’t smell, he’d only hum and think. Even when she’d said she still remembered that one girl who died, Chase had nothing to say so he’d remained silent.

But now, Chase finally broke his silence and dismissed everything she’d been saying with a wave of his hand.

“I always hated it when you did that”, Wuya said, breaking his train of thought. “Acting like you’re the only one to feel anything—it’s incredibly self-involved and narcissistic; I thought you’d have grown out of it by now.”

“I’m sorry, Wuya”, Chase managed to push. Despite the situation, he felt like he could burry into the ground and disappear.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too”, Wuya said, shrugging. Clearing her throat now, she added, “I guess what I was trying to say is…don’t feel guilty for surviving. Dashi wouldn’t have wished it on himself if he was alive and you shouldn’t either. Understand me?”

Chase took a very long time before he scoffed and nodded. He sighed, after. She had a point but he couldn’t wholeheartedly believe her. Not yet. There was a lot to do still.

Dashi’s case file was still sitting unopened in Chase’s apartment. He was avoiding it. But until he read it and made sure it wasn’t connected to the other file, Jack Spicer’s, or that it wasn’t because of anything or anyone he suspected, Chase wasn’t allowing himself the luxury of absolution.

“I won’t lie and tell you I understand, but I can see your point”, he said. Tentatively, Chase gave Wuya a look. He knew his time was up but he still didn’t want to leave. It felt like she could disappear if he blinked.

A pause. “I…I could leave you my number but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wuya shrugged, trying for a smile. “You already know I’m here, Chase. Where are you going now?”

“I’m a suspended police detective with nothing to do”, Chase said, chuckling a little. “But I’m in the mood for some jasmine tea.”

* * *

Standing right by the security fence at the back of the Spicer mansion, Kimiko found herself suddenly doubting a lot of her choices. Some of those choices she’d regretted was having that extra sticky bun today. Others, _well_ …

“It was your idea”, Omi reminded her in a lilting singsong voice, using the worst moment to finally act his age. “Remember, Kimi?”

She did. When they were talking over the snacks her uncle brought them—with the door open, of course, can’t have a repeat of _that_ Year Nine sleepover—the four teenagers reviewed what they’d all known and what they still needed to know.

“Okay, so we need to know who that stranger Jack was seeing is”, Clay said. He’d had a sticky bun in his hand too, but so far, he’d only used it to gesture around rather than actually eat it.

Raimundo sighed, trying to bite back a yawn. “Yeah, we’re also gonna need to dig around his place to find any clues about what he knew.”

“Or just clues in general”, Omi said. He raised an eyebrow now. “But—but his place? How are we even going to get in?”

That was a good question. Ever since middle school ended, Kimiko and the others were officially banned from Jack’s house. The Spicers even instructed the household staff to never let them in.

There wasn’t any mystery as to why, what, with all the shared history and troublemaking, but the Dyris thing seemed to push Jack’s parents over the edge. Jack had whined about it endlessly then.

_‘It’s not fair’_ , he’d say, whenever they’d hang out. ‘ _Do you know how many rooms_ my _house has? Your places are pathetic—and besides, we’ve done way worse than Dyris!_ ’

That had been the first time anyone had mentioned her name after all that had happened. When they’d come out of the station, right after the investigation was over and they gave their final statements, they’d made a silent promise to never speak about it again.

No one mentioned Dyris, even when they knew she was the cause behind all their guardians’ worried looks and increasing reserve. Until Jack mentioned her, all too casually. Just like that, the fragile spell was gone. They all froze, shock clear on their faces.

Clay had snorted soon after, desperate to relief the tension, giving the redhead a sarcastic look. ‘ _Name one other time that ended in murder, smartass_ ’.

‘ _And by the way’_ , Raimundo had said, laughing nervously before his laughs became natural. ‘ _This little unfair thing? It’s called having parents and they all suck_ ’.

Even after all Jack’s complaining about his friends not being allowed over and having to do with sleepovers at Clay’s or Kimiko’s or Raimundo’s, all of which ended by early Year Nine, the next time any of them had stepped foot in Jack Spicer’s house was during his memorial.

That house hadn’t changed from the last time Kimiko had seen it. It was still too big and too vacant and too cold. There weren’t any photos of Jack anywhere, like his parents were childless long before his death.

The familiarity had stung her, then. She remembered the way to Jack’s room, with her eyes closed. Like Jack himself had told them before, all she had to do was walk up the stairs and count seven rooms before they found his.

‘ _But if you want a shortcut’_ , Jack had excitedly said, the first time they came over. ‘ _You just have to come in through the backdoor, then through the kitchen. There’s a staircase that leads right up to my room—I tried to get Dad to make it a slide but…_ ’

“We could just break in”, Kimiko casually said, interrupting nothing fruitful. “Through the backdoor. Jack used to say that was—”

“The shortcut to his room, yeah”, Raimundo said, nodding like he was both surprised and accepting of the idea. Kimiko almost smiled at that. “But you’re forgetting something, genius.”

“What?”

“The mansion has a ten foot fence”, Raimundo said, like it was obvious. “The one Jack used to tell us was ‘electric’.”

Clay chuckled at the memory, but Omi only gave half a smile, clearly not remembering that story like everyone did. Kimiko, though, was frowning.

“Well, we’re gonna figure out”, she said. “I don’t see any of you coming up with a plan that doesn’t involve Megan.”

“I mean”, Clay said, a little insulted. “She lives in that house. We’d be idiots not to consider her, ya know.”

After a lot of discussion, the four teenagers came to the same conclusion. Kimiko’s idea was probably the better one. And here they were, late into the night, standing in front of a ten foot steel fence.

“It’s spikier than I remember”, Omi said, awkwardly. Clay huffed but didn’t agree out loud.

Raimundo clicked his tongue, drawing their attention back to him. He was stretching now, a determined look on his face.

Then he took a few steps back and sprinted before clutching the bars as he climbed and vaulted himself over to the other side. All in under a minute.

_Parkour_ , Clay sarcastically thought to himself. Out loud, he said, “What in the Sam Hill?”

“I’m literally a trained acrobat, _cara_ ”, Raimundo said, a little insulted. Gesturing to Omi’s backpack, he added, “Throw it here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Omi did as he was told. “You made a pretty big deal about the fence, though.”

“It’s called being a lazy asshole”, Kimiko said, rolling her eyes at her cousin and the innocently smirking boy, before giving Clay a look. “Your turn.”

It took Clay about two minutes to make it onto the other side of the fence, like Kimiko after him. After Omi and his newly-found fear of heights cost them five more minutes, the four were finally within Spicer territory and on their way to Jack’s house.

Walking across the Spicers’ backyard took them a while and as they did, they couldn’t help but remember everything that had happened here. This is where they’d played their little make-pretend games and real-games and talked and laughed. It was where they’d buried that time-capsule and it was where they’d made most of their plans.

“I forgot how big this place was”, Raimundo said, voicing what they were all thinking. “Remember how we used to think this yard went on forever?”

Kimiko scoffed. “That’s just Jack’s mom’s taste—she wanted everyone to know _she_ had the biggest house in town.”

“It is”, Clay said. “’Member how y’all used to say I could’a had a Twilight werewolf body if I ran this yard ten times a day? Made me almost drop dead outta exhaustion tryna get me fit in time for that pool party.”

Opening his mouth, Omi almost decided to say something about how that sounded kinda mean but didn’t. Raimundo tripped and, as the nearest person next to him, Omi helped him up.

“ _Ah_ , there’s that old acrobatic agility”, Kimiko sarcastically said. It’d have been a crime to let that easy shot go to waste. “Cirque du Soleil _must_ be blowing up your phone, Raimundo.”

“Shut up, Kimiko”, Raimundo said. Furrowing his eyebrows for the slightest second, he got over his reluctance to keep his distance and added, “Don’t forget who helped you down that fence!”

“Oh, I’m _not_ forgetting and by the way—”

Rolling his eyes, Clay walked faster and effectively tuned those two out. _Not this again_. It was already enough being back in the Spicer residence. No one needed an overload of nostalgic memories, certainly not Clay.

“We’re going way too fast for them”, Omi said, surprising Clay that he was still there. He’d been unnaturally quiet but the American teenager supposed it made sense. Last time Omi was here, he had a meltdown. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Why?”, Clay said, scoffing. “If we go fast enough, we might actually lose them and be in and out by the time they finish flirting.”

Rolling his eyes at the dig, Omi nodded. He could see what Clay meant. Even out of earshot, his cousin’s back-and-forth with her ex-boyfriend and their former friend was still annoying. Was it always like this?

Getting an idea, Omi jogged back to where Kimiko and Raimundo were languidly walking on eggshells and smirked. “Clay says you should stop flirting and catch up with us.”

“Flirting? She wishes”, Raimundo said, scoffing harshly, the words seemingly making him snap back to reality. Meanwhile, Kimiko flipped Clay, who was already turning around, off.

“I said no such thing”, Clay said with a shrug, realizing they were close enough for his voice to carry in whispers. “Personally, I didn’t think y’all would miss each other all that much. Kimiko _just_ stayed over, right?”

“At least, _I_ am capable of staying over with somebody”, Kimiko said, pleasantly vicious. “Some of us don’t have that luxury.”

Everything quieted down again after that. As quickly as it came, Clay’s playful crooked smile had disappeared and was soon replaced with the same-old guarded expression. Kimiko was scowling again, fists clenched. Raimundo sped up now by a good margin and, not bothering to hide it, Omi ran to join him.

It took them a few more minutes to reach the house’s backdoor. Omi immediately went for the handle before he was pulled back by Kimiko.

“There’s a password”, she said. “It’s a pretty strong system, like five passcodes before it opens. Basically, this is why the Spicers have never been robbed.”

A pause. “Give me a minute, guys.”

And so they gave her two. Then, three. Five. But by the time the seventh minute passed, the door was still unlocked and Kimiko turned to them, disappointed.

“I tried everything”, she said. “But there’s one final passcode that I just can’t get through. I think it was recently added because even the app on my phone can’t pin it.”

Omi took a look at the system. “How many more tries do we have?”

“Three”, Kimiko said. “But once they’re done, the cops are on our asses.”

Taking two steps closer, Raimundo almost typed something on the keyboard before Kimiko silently slapped his hand off it and glared. When he didn’t explain, she prodded. “ _What_?”

“I just wanted to try something! _You_ , what?”

“Gloves”, Kimiko explained, waving her gloved hands like it was obvious and he was stupid. “What did you want to try?”

“I, uh”, Raimundo began. He was too embarrassed so he bent down and whispered to her, so she could hear it alone.

Nodding and keeping her face devoid of any expression, good and bad, Kimiko turned back to the keyboard. _Try Dick Grayson_.

“That’s not it”, she said, turning back to the other three and biting back an oddly victorious smile.

Clay had a feeling he knew what Raimundo whispered to Kimiko. When it came to Jack, Clay still knew more than he’d liked to know. Reluctantly, he offered.

“Kimiko, try Beast Boy 119.”

“What, why?”

“Just do it”, the boy said, giving her a look as he struggled to get Jack’s voice out of his head.

Despite how much he’d rambled about others, it wasn’t a big secret to anyone that Jack severely projected on Beast Boy, even going as far as dyeing his hair green once.

What was a secret no one but Clay knew was Jack Spicer’s password strategy, though. ‘ _Always put 119, trust me_ ’, Jack once told him, nodding confidently. ‘ _No one expects it’d be something this easy._ ’

Kimiko turned back around and typed what Clay said. And soon enough, the security system lit green.

Turning around, she gave the boy a reluctantly approving look. Shrugging, Clay opened the unlocked door and walked through followed by Omi, Kimiko, and a disappointed-looking Raimundo.

They walked through the vast kitchen, creeping silently, until they reached the hidden stairs by the kitchen door. Stopping at the stairs, Omi almost went up before he was stopped by Raimundo, who silently gestured to his shoes.

In various nods and gestures, the four teenagers started taking off their shoes before they went, in single-file, up the stairs.

It didn’t take them much time to reach Jack’s room, though it seemed like they spent an eternity standing at the door. None of them had been there in years but if the bedroom changed, they couldn’t see it.

The walls were still supposedly-white and covered with posters of Jack’s personal idols. String lights lined some of the posters but they’d been cut-off mid-wall like Jack had given up on them early on, which he had.

Clay didn’t need to look at the room much to know where everything was. Interestingly enough, Jack was meticulous about personal organization from a young age. So his screws and bolts and wires still filled up his nightstand drawers and the bed was always made up.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised. They all were. Coming into the room like this made it seem like Jack was about to come up any minute now, yelling at some poor maid for the snacks.

“He was always dressed like a 2004 mall goth”, Kimiko said, shrugging her feelings off and taking the first step into the room. “And he had the bedroom to prove it.”

Despite himself, Raimundo scoffed. “ _Yeah_. Remember when we tried to give him that makeover? He kept cussing us out for trying to tamper with his personal aesthetic, the _weirdo_.”

“Well, ya _were_ tampering with his style”, Clay said, rolling his eyes. “And you know Jack—if he ain’t wearing black and being edgy, he feels transparent. Been that way ever since—”

“His second cousin converted him to goth culture in Year Four”, Kimiko continued, snorting at some memory. “We _know_ , Clay, he never shut up about that.”

As they talked and spread out to search, Omi froze as he realized that maybe he didn’t really know Jack Spicer at all.

Here he was standing in the boy’s bedroom, yet all he could think about was all the stories his cousin and his friends shared. He didn’t know any of them.

The best Omi had was a few stories. He had that story about when Kimiko made teaching Omi how to finally ride a bike into their summer project.

Another was about Clay and Jack forcing him into enduring a three-hour lecture about comic-book history, something Omi apparently needed. A third was when Raimundo taught him football basics that one time he had no one to play with.

But Omi had other stories too, of course. Sadly, he had more of those stories he didn’t understand until it was too late, like the stories about the smokey laughing gas and the secret-elaborate treasure map.

Shrugging it off, the youngest off the bunch coughed once and focused back on the search for anything suspicious. He didn’t know he wasn’t the only one reminiscing, though.

Like Omi, they all remembered that time with the ‘ _smokey laughing gas’_. Only they remembered it correctly and Clay remembered it the most accurately. His heart had been racing when he’d gotten that blunt back to Jack’s home safely.

‘ _You?_ ’, Raimundo had asked, incredulously. His voice had been breaking rather a lot that week, so he’d been trying not to raise it. He failed. ‘ _You brought weed? Clay motherfucking Bailey?!_ ’

And Clay ‘motherfucking’ Bailey could only nod back then. He hadn’t meant it, honestly.

He’d been waiting for afterschool hours, when he lied to his Aunt Marcia and said he had Science Club, so he could go to the bathroom and exorcise whatever food made it into his system that day. He had only been doing that for a couple of days, but it was already working, according to some classmates.

The problem was that the bathroom was out-of-order, which was just Clay’s luck. He’d almost given up until he remembered there was an old bathroom on the third, near-vacant floor of the school. Only there, he’d discovered it wasn’t vacant.

There’d been a few older kids, the cool ones, and they hadn’t taken to Clay very well. They only took one look at him before two of them squared up and walked to him. One girl, though, suddenly noticed who he was.

_Let him go_ , she’d said. _He’s part of that Expat Kid group, you know, the one with that cool Brazilian circus kid?_ She’d then asked Clay if he’d care for ‘something special’. Clay didn’t until his mind wandered and let him think just how cool his friends would think he was.

There was no better place to try that ‘something special’ than Jack’s bedroom, so Clay shot Jack a text and told him to call the others.

The others—save for Omi, who they’d sent on a fictional errand—were shocked and nervous, though no one gave trying the blunt a second thought. Status was on the line and none of them wanted the others to know they weren’t as tough or cool as they pretended they were.

That wasn’t the only thing they’d tried in Jack’s room either. Once, most recently, Kimiko had snuck them her father’s Sake.

And that was something they’d all been more upfront about trying, since they’d all seen and had been fascinated by her Uncle Tadashi’s drinking it one time in their midst.

Besides, Kimiko’s anger hadn’t left any room for discussion. ‘ _He’s an asshole’_ , she’d said and it wasn’t clear who she’d been referring to. ‘ _He doesn’t deserve anything, not at all!’_

Even though that had been one of Kimiko’s worst memories of her family, it had been one of her best with her former friends. Her father, Toshiro, had been in town for one of his rarer-than-rare visits and that wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d said more than two words to her.

Behind her back, it seemed, her father had much more to say. Kimiko had heard him just before she’d stole the Sake and left. He’d been talking with Uncle Tadashi, incredulous and in disbelief. _Just how is it costing this much_ , Toshiro had asked, referring to Kimiko’s entire life. _The girl’s expenses were ridiculous!_

In retaliation, Kimiko stole the alcohol her father had bought and casually mentioned at least three times over the course of the two days he’d be staying.

‘ _You must drink it warm’_ , Kimiko had said, off-memory of her dad’s words. Her fingers clumsily handled the tokkuri bottle as she poured the shots. ‘ _You know, my grandmother used to say Sake is like truth serum—so careful!_ ’

But weed and Japanese alcohol weren’t the only things they’d tried here.

In Jack’s room, the five-but-sometimes-four teenagers planned schoolwide pranks and ways to mess with Annoying Ashley and laid down strange ground rules—the color blue, for some reason was deemed by them to be an uncool color for an entire term.

They planned adventures to the river in the woods and adventures to abandoned factories. They also planned little things, like pocketing some cash from Jack’s mom and spending it on candy.

Sometimes, they didn’t plan anything at all and just hanged out and played video games. Other times, they played real games like hide-and-seek and dares and forcing-Clay-to-get-a-buzzcut even though he didn’t really want one.

One time, they invented and played a game called Punch-able and that went the way anyone could expect. Kimiko’s punches were the weakest back then, because they were always more like slaps, and Clay couldn’t bring himself up to punch most of them in the face.

That game was never played again because one time Jack actually punched Raimundo so hard he stopped breathing for a whole minute. Not that that was the only time Jack had left him breathless.

Allowing himself to finally acknowledge it now, Raimundo remembered that Spin the Bottle game ( _another game he pushed them to ban_ ). They’d been choosing to put it off until Omi was at his math tutor’s and when it finally happened, all hell brook loose.

That game had been when Kimiko jokingly told Clay that he’d be lucky to finally kiss _anyone_ , not that it was an out of character move for her. Clay himself remembered Kimiko talking about the boys who were giving her looks in school, as early as Year Six.

With time, her tone had shifted from disdainful to surprised to arrogant and intently trying to get a reaction. Even back then, Kimiko had found ways to tell Clay that no one would really like him-like him, like she’d done minutes ago.

And Clay had to struggle to bite his tongue and not tell her to _fuck off_. Just like he bit his tongue from telling her that he was seeing someone— _Jin from the small high school_ —and they were happy and no one who didn’t matter knew because unlike _some_ people Clay liked his business private.

That Spin the Bottle game had been a pretty big deal because it was also, incidentally, the first time Raimundo ever kissed Kimiko. A couple of turns after he’d kissed Jack because that was the way the game went.

Before and after the game, nothing changed much. Raimundo had still been way too nervous about asking Kimiko out and he still sometimes went to those sleepovers in Jack’s house alone.

He’d only done that second thing because, _fine_ , sometimes talking to Jack was fun when no one was there. He’d been the only one Raimundo had been able to talk to like that, other than Kimiko.

Also, Raimundo _had_ to go to those sleepovers alone. It’d be the only time Jack would find ways to get Raimundo to try eyeliner.

‘ _If you don’t let my try it, I’ll never get enough practice’_ , Jack would threaten him, already hovering over Raimundo with his eyeliner in hand. ‘ _And if I don’t get practice, I’m gonna poke your eye out and I won’t feel bad about it._ ’

Raimundo then would pretend to be annoyed. He’d huff and roll his eyes and allow Jack to apply the eyeliner. ‘ _Fine, but if I see you taking pictures, I’m ending your entire career._ ’

One time, Raimundo _did_ let Jack take one single photo, though they’d both decided to rip it up and make sure it never saw the light of day.

Raimundo had blamed it on Jack’s shitty photography skills and the fact that he didn’t know how to actually use a disposable camera.

Jack, however, blamed it on the other boy’s stupidity. ‘ _How is this my fault? What part of pose like George Michael don’t you get?_ ’

And that wasn’t the first time they’d talked about George Michael either, oddly enough. Jack had been one of those obnoxious fans with the snobby music facts and the one proud poster until the poster disappeared from the room.

‘ _Yeah, my dad apparently doesn’t like George’_ , Jack had, shrugging and going back to his Cheetos. ‘ _Get this—apparently, he thinks listening to him might make me gay._ ’

Taking his sweet time to laugh, young Jack shrugged and added, ‘ _But he changed his mind yesterday. He said I can be gay, but I can’t do drugs. Shame, I wanted to try cocaine next year._ ’

‘ _And are you?_ ’, Raimundo had asked, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, a moment later. Suddenly, he _had_ to ask and know the answer. ‘ _Are you gay?_ ’

Jack hadn’t answered him then. And right now, Raimundo shook his head and tried to focus on what he was actually doing.

He opened one of the nightstand drawers and, predictably, found screws and wires and a million techy things. One rolled up paper caught his eye, though, so he unfurled it and sure enough 80’s George Michael was staring him back in the face.

He chuckled a little and put it back. “Can you guys believe the last time we were here, we thought we were all straight?”

“Sounds so weird now”, Clay said, amusedly. “Life.”

Kimiko snorted. “That’s one thing I don’t miss.”

Admittedly, Kimiko had never really thought of herself as a strictly-straight person. She’d always been intrigued by pretty people, no matter who they were, from a young age.

Sadly, her first response to those feelings was ‘ _be unfriendly first, ask questions later’_. It’d turned all girls away from her, until anger management and that brief thing with Shadow at least. Not that either of those two things ended positively.

_Well_ , Kimiko thought, _live and learn_. Remembering something out of the blue now, she giggled.

Giving Raimundo a look, she said, “The way you kept talking about that tightrope guy, though, I don’t know how we didn’t notice _you_.”

“That’s fair”, Raimundo said, shrugging. “But what about the way you kept talking about that art teacher, Ms. Tong?”

Clay feigned innocence on this one. “Didn’t she also insist on dragging Shadow along with us everywhere that one term too?”

“ _Ugh_ , don’t remind me”, Raimundo said, rolling his eyes.

Kimiko, though, crossed her arms, and retorted, “Shadow was cool then, actually. Before she—”

“Knew you were using her and started dating the most annoying girl in school?”, Clay asked, faux-casually. “Yeah, I’d say that would do a number on a person.”

“I mean, so would having a crush on a mime”, Kimiko began, rolling her eyes. “But it’s not like I told everyone you were into Li Xiaoming in Year Eight.”

Mockingly widening her eyes, she fake-gasped. “ _Oh_ _wait_!”

Holding his tongue back from name-calling, Clay returned to his searching and Kimiko went back to hers, feeling a little pleased with herself.

This little mission was blurring the lines between old friendships and you’re-dead-to-me states and she did not like it.

Kimiko had to find some way to make the others realize she wasn’t their friend. Right now, they were coworkers in a grey area and that was it.

As she searched and wracked her brain, Kimiko found something. A piece of paper under a notebook Jack kept. The paper wasn’t all that important, though. It just had the drawing of an oval circle and a scribbled word— _Hundun_ —inside it.

She squinted and read the words above it. It was an address on a street she’d went to with Liu Qiqi. The street was nothing special, Kimiko knew.

It’d had nothing but one rundown ramen shop, a hair salon, and a few cheap apartment buildings. The only reason she’d went was that the parking lot behind the buildings was perfect for smoking. She’d never seen Jack Spicer there, though.

_Just when Jack couldn’t get weirder_ , Kimiko thought before silently pocketing the paper. It might come in handy later. Taking a look to see if someone saw her, she accidentally caught her cousin’s eye, who didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, Omi sighed. He shut the box he’d been looking in and slid it back under the bed. He sighed again and gave his cousin a meaningful look before scanning the others in the room.

“There’s nothing here”, Omi said, discouragement all over his face. Shutting his eyes, he added, a little embarrassedly. “And I really need to pee.”

“Well, hold it in!”

“I can’t, Kimiko, I drank a lot of water today—I told you I’m trying this new natural skincare routine!”

“ _Ugh_ ”, Raimundo began. “You can’t use the bathroom, you’ll let everyone know we’re here.”

Pausing, the Brazilian boy looked through the window and got inspiration. “Pee in the backyard, but make sure you’re hidden.”

“And that won’t be suspicious?”, Clay asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they’ll notice.”

“I mean, stray dogs come in all the time”, Kimiko shrugged. “Even with their big ass fence. Go, Omi.”

As soon as Omi silently hurried downstairs, shoes and backpack in hand, his cousin sat down on the floor. Seeing this, Clay copied her and took his seat on Jack’s bed and Raimundo sat on the desk chair.

“Well, this was absolutely useless”, Kimiko began, fake-cheerily. “Nothing’s out of the ordinary here. Like, it’s exactly like it was the last time we left it.”

A pause. “If we look hard enough, I bet we’ll find Jack saved our old chewed gum for some freaky lab experiment.”

Though Clay was in the mood for an argument, he couldn’t really argue with that at all. Kimiko was kind of right about this. Jack had a nasty of habit of hoarding their stuff, a habit that continued past their friendship.

“Yeah, probably”, Clay agreed. “Jack was a few pickles away from a barrel.”

Throwing a look at Raimundo’s way, the American teenager didn’t see any kind of bemusement on his face. In fact, there was nothing at all.

Raimundo was looking off to the side, out of the room’s window, like he was lost in thought. His mouth twitched like a jackrabbit and that didn’t sit well with Clay.

Something about this look made Clay even more suspicious. It brought back a lot of that night’s memories, the night he saw Jack and Raimundo leave Kimiko’s front door together. Clay narrowed his eyes. Well, they were looking for that final person Jack saw, weren’t they? Could it be—

“You guys remember the time capsule?”, Raimundo said, now turning back to them and breaking Clay’s train of thought. “The one we made in Year Six?”

Clay nodded. “How could I ever forget? We spent weeks tryna figure out where to bury it.”

“Yeah and we went all over town to find that one good spot too”, Kimiko added, struggling to hold back a smile. She remembered the list they’d made as they crossed out all options. “We were supposed to dig it out this year, right?”

“Right”, Raimundo said. “I think we should, while we’re here. I gotta feeling we’ll find something there.”

“Why?”, Clay asked, crossing his arms.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Much like other questions, though, Raimundo didn’t want to answer it now. He’d been thinking again about that night, when he asked Jack if he was gay and Jack didn’t answer.

Instead Jack answered with a joke. _Why, do you wanna kiss me or something?_

‘ _I mean_ ’, Raimundo said, backtracking and panicking and trying to joke back all at once. ‘ _You said you’d do anything for me._ ’

That night, fourteen year-old Raimundo made up an excuse and left early. He’d been cursing himself and his big mouth and all his emotions until he’d tripped over that spot in the backyard. Then, he’d cursed even more.

That spot was only overturned and dug up almost two years before and it still tripped him. They thought that spot would just remain like that forever but it stopped tripping them right in the middle of Year Eight.

It didn’t even trip Raimundo the last time they were here, for the memorial. But it tripped him again now.

To Clay’s question, though, Raimundo could only shrug and say one thing. “I just have a feeling and we have nothing to lose either way.”

“Um, we might have _a_ _lot_ to lose actually”, Clay said, sarcastically. “You want us to dig up the Spicers’ backyard.”

Kimiko scoffed and almost went back to her phone before she noticed the look both boys were giving her. Oh, so _now_ they wanted a vote.

“Let’s dig it up; that thing’s ours anyway”, she said, shrugging. “And we already broke in, Clay, don’t be a pussy.”

“ _Of course_ ”, Clay said, laughing to himself. Wasn’t this all too predictable? “Why did I think this would make any difference? You’d side with him if it meant you’d go to hell.”

A pause. “And since we’re opening the door to the past, how about we discuss the—”

“Stop right there. I’m not letting you say _shit_ about anything you don’t understand, Bucky—”

Tired of the arguments, Raimundo rolled his eyes and walked out the door. Well, almost.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, Kimiko asked, giving him a look.

“To steal a shovel from the gardening shed”, Raimundo said, giving both his former friends less-than-impressed looks. Disgusted even. Kimiko raised an eyebrow at that. “You two are so annoying, I’d rather be actually dead than stay here so…”

He paused. “When you’re done being fourteen again, you may join me.”

“Bitch”, Kimiko said, once the boy was out of the room. At that same time, Clay gave her a look and a raised eyebrow.

“ _What_?”

“A half-dead bat with every other sense missing can tell he’s hiding something”, Clay said. Mind racing, he considered many possibilities he couldn’t share without evidence. Could Raimundo know something about the name Jack mentioned? “You can tell, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s anything special”, Kimiko said, though she couldn’t deny it bothered her, how he’d looked at them like he knew something no one did. And that’s _one_ more thing he hides. “Raimundo likes having secrets; _everyone_ does.”

Clay intentionally missed her subtle dig. “And if the secret has something to do with Jack’s murder—”

“ _Oh my God_ , you’re still on about that? I told you he didn’t do it. If he had, I would have said something.”

_Would you really_ , Clay thought, though he wisely said nothing. “I just think we should keep an eye out.”

“Oh, I _will_ be”, Kimiko said, giving him a onceover. If subtlety didn’t cut it, maybe this would. “You’re so certain, Clay, it almost sounds like you’re projecting.”

“Well, thieves do think everyone else steals”, the American boy said, narrowing his eyes. “But, dear Lord, defensive looks bad on you.”

With that said, the Japanese girl scoffed and got up, dusting her jeans. Seemingly debating something, she gave him the finger and left the room, shoes in hand.

_So spoiled salt couldn’t save her_ , Clay thought, though a small smile crept on his face. He was admittedly a little torn about this.

On one hand, he’d gotten the last word and that, if anything, he actually beat Kimiko at her own game. On the other, she could pretty well be setting up how she’d get him back for that.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his victory for now, though, so the white boy grinned again to himself before getting up. He gave Jack’s room a final brushing, hoping for any more clues, before silently shutting the lights and toeing his way out of it.

By the time Clay made it out of the kitchen and onto the backyard, the other three had already began digging. Well, Raimundo did while Kimiko shone the light with her phone’s flashlight.

Readjusting his backpack straps, Omi mouthed ‘one shovel’ at the questioning cowboy when he’d silently raised his eyebrows in question. Clay nodded and turned his eyes back to the dirt being shoveled then back to the house way behind them.

They were being silent but if anyone woke up or had any suspicions, well, that was about as good a game over as they’d get really.

He surely hoped Raimundo wasn’t right about Texas and the whole death penalty thing. Maybe he should ask his cousin Amber—

“Found it”, Raimundo said, panting a little. He threw the shovel to the side and bent down to pick up a little plastic wrapped box inside the hole he’d just dug.

Squinting, he also grabbed an unassuming plain backpack buried beneath their box. “Looks like we have a free surprise too.”

Surprised and worried, Omi began, “Give it here—I’ll put it in my bag and you shovel all this back in. We need to leave before someone finds us.”

Raimundo shrugged and handed Omi the wrapped box while Clay took the other bag.

Not waiting for anyone’s response about the second thing, Kimiko grabbed the shovel that was now near her and, as quickly as she could, shoveled the overturned dirt back into the hole.

When she was done, minutes later, she patted the ground with the bottom of the shovel and gave it to Omi, who began to run with it back to the shed, heart thumping loud in his ear.

“Hey”, she whisper-called before her cousin sprinted off. “I could carry your bag for you till you come back.”

“It’s not heavy”, Omi said sharply and a little too quickly, taking off with the shovel. Not even his cousin noticed as he patted the back every few seconds, as if making sure it was still there.

“What’s _his_ problem?”, Raimundo asked, giving her a confused look.

Hands on her hips now, Kimiko muttered a noncommittal ‘I don’t know’. Looking from her cousin to her ex to her other former friend, she felt nothing short of left out.

Everyone here knew something she didn’t and it didn’t sit well with her. Sure she had that one paper crumbled in her pocket but _still_.

For once, Kimiko finally understood why Jack didn’t like getting left out of her and Raimundo’s bigger pranks.

‘ _You always leave me out of the good stuff’_ , Jack would say, well into ninth grade. ‘ _It’s not fair!_ ’

* * *

The oddly sharp reply Omi gave his cousin wasn’t the weirdest response he’d given about his backpack that night. Once they got their bearings in the big football court behind their school, Clay made to grab the bag to open it.

“Actually let me just do that myself”, Omi said, before catching the weird looks the others were throwing his way. “I, _uh_ , I don’t like it when people touch my stuff.”

“No one cares”, Kimiko said, perpetually at her wit’s end. At this point, she was desperate for sleep and the sooner this was over the better. “Open it and take that fucking thing out.”

And so, her cousin did as he was told and took out the plastic-wrapped box out. Kimiko grabbed the box out of Omi’s hands and hastily unwrapped it. Breathing a minute, she opened the medium-sized tin box.

Looking up at the boys, Kimiko seemed a little hesitant before muttering a curse and sticking her hand in. She pulled out a small toy figurine, a rolled up magazine, a threadbare friendship bracelet, a small puzzle piece, and finally a Chanel hairclip.

Clay took the small toy figurine from Kimiko first. “This was…this is mine.”

Coughing to shake the edge off his voice, the boy added, “Cyborg, because Jack and I just thought he was underrated. It was the only one I had.”

‘ _He has a lot going on, you know’_ , Jack once told Clay, four days after they’d first met. They’d been spending yet another break talking about superheroes and Clay had had the realization he hadn’t spoken that much since he’d came to China.

“Yeah”, Raimundo said, not quite hearing the other boy.

His item was the all-but-ruined friendship bracelet and the more he looked at the more he couldn’t place where he’d gotten it or who’d given it to him.

The only reason he’d put that in the capsule was because he didn’t have anything else to bury.

“Yeah”, he repeated now, pocketing the bracelet. “This is mine.”

Omi grabbed his item after, the small puzzle piece. He didn’t say much at first before shrugging. “I didn’t really know what to put and no one would tell me so, _yeah_ , this was it.”

“At least you have the last piece to that puzzle now, O”, Raimundo said, as if that was any consolation.

“No, we threw it out actually”, the boy said, sighing. He threw the hairclip a look. “That’s yours, Kimi?”

“I mean, it’s not Jack’s”, Kimiko said, rolling her eyes. She had never actually forgotten what she’d left in that box. “It was Papa’s happy-moving-to-China gift. It disgusts me.”

Wisely biting all his quips about how that clip might cost a tuition and a half, Raimundo shrugged and got off the bench he was sharing with the others, save for Omi also standing up.

They didn’t need to peruse through that limited edition comic to know it was Jack’s.

“I guess that’s it, then”, he said, unable to hide his disappointment. “I thought there’d be something else.”

As Clay made to get up as well, Kimiko shifted and took the tin box off her lap only to hear vague rattling coming from its inside.

Eyes wide, she gave the other also very shocked three a look before sticking her hand and feeling around.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, do I have to spell it out? _Someone_ turn your flash on!”

Three phone flashlights immediately turned on and shone on the box.

Huffing, Kimiko looked as she moved her hand and found nothing. Squinting, she could vaguely make a hard edge inside the box. She moved it and the already wide box seemed wider.

“So, it did not just get smaller”, Clay commented. “What’s in it?”

Glaring and saving her harsh words for later, Kimiko looked into the hidden compartment. Her face scrunched up in confusion soon after.

She knew that one lone pearl earring. She’d know it anywhere and she’d know it blind-folded too.

‘ _Congrats, Kimiko, you finally look like you’re rich’_ , Jack told her the first and only time she ever wore those earrings at school. He kept on giving her those compliments—first and last time he’d ever done that—through the day. ‘ _You look so elegant_.’

Kimiko had smiled then, an even rarer thing for her grade seven self to do. ‘ _Thanks. They were my mother’s—shit person, but oh my God, great taste, right?_ ’

She couldn’t think about her mother now, though. There would be never enough time to think about how horrible that woman was, so Kimiko blinked herself to focus on the actual situation.

“Well, it’s not our chewed gum but”, she began, almost inaudibly at first. “I swear I lost that earring a couple of weeks ago—I was going crazy looking for it everywhere.”

Omi raised an eyebrow as Kimiko showed them all her one pearl earring. “That’s weird.”

Peering in, the boy looked at the compartment before his expression soon became a mix of surprise and confusion. He reached his hand out and grabbed something.

“That’s—this is”, Omi began unable to speak coherently at first. He hadn’t even known it’d went missing. Then again, who goes looking for these things? “That’s my belt, from that Shaolin Kung Fu class I took—remember the one—”

“Aunt Jinglei made you take, yeah”, Kimiko finished. “I feel really strange about this…and what’s that other thing in your hand, Omi?”

“I don’t know”, Omi said, shrugging. He squinted at it. “A piece of leather I think?”

“That’s actually the hat band of my old ten-gallon”, Clay said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought a mouse got to it or something, but this is even stranger.”

Grabbing the box from Kimiko, Raimundo looked for himself to see if anything else was inside. Maybe they’d just missed it, whatever that odd misplaced thing of his was. He didn’t find any.

For some reason, this felt like a punch deep in the gut. So, Jack stole random objects off the others but didn’t even bother taking anything of Raimundo’s?

But then again, he thought, why would he? Towards the end, Jack had truly hated him.

Shutting his eyes for a moment, Raimundo could see Jack’s face. Not the kind, hopefully smiling one that belonged to his friend. No, the other one with all-knowing grin and deranged eyes that belonged to his blackmailer.

‘ _You’re just like me’_ , Jack told him. Although he’d looked unhinged, the redhead’s voice was anything but jittery. ‘ _We’re both the same_.’

Raimundo hadn’t known what to say to that then. All he knew was that he’d wanted to not hear it and he needed Jack to stop talking. “Shut up, just… _shut up_ , Jack.”

“You’re just like me”, Jack repeated, bitterly. He took a moment to add a humorless laugh too. “We’re both the same—you just won’t admit it. You always found it embarrassing, didn’t you? _Didn’t you_?”

He stopped talking afterwards and turned as if to walk away, but Raimundo’s fists were still clenched and so was his jaw. When Jack turned back around, vicious grin on his face, he’d been ready.

“It must kill you that even the person you know is like you the most can’t stand you”, Jack said, smile reaching his eyes now. He sounded hateful. “I know it does. I can’t believe I was ever friends with someone like _you_ , mini-me.”

Raimundo didn’t know he’d snapped until he realized that the pain he felt in his knuckles came from its severe contact with Jack’s face. When he’d realized what it was that he’d done, he didn’t care.

“You and I are nothing alike”, he told Jack soon after, standing so closely he’d almost poked Jack’s eye out when pointing his finger to the redhead’s face. “ _Nothing_ _alike_ , you hear me? Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

A pause. Breathing adjusted now, Raimundo added, “And do yourself a favor, Jack, and know that whatever you’re doing or whoever the fuck you suddenly think you are, you, out of everyone, can never judge me.”

“Actually, I can”, Jack said, chuckling and acting like his face didn’t hurt. “I did bad things too, Raimundo, but at least I _know_ I’m a bad person. I know that just because people let me do things, I’m not supposed to do them.”

“Leave”, Raimundo said, glaring at the other boy now. “If you stay, you’re going to die tonight.”

Something vaguely like worry had crossed Jack’s face then. It soon disappeared, though, and he was smiling manically again. “ _Tempting_ , but you know what? I’m going to need a favor first—”

“Fuck you and your favors. I’m not doing anything more for you.”

“Really?”, Jack asked, raising an amused eyebrow. “But this one’s the easiest, Scholarship Man. So—”

“—Raimundo? _Raimundo_?”

Snapping out of his unpleasant memories, Raimundo looked up from the empty box and saw the other three give him looks that ranged from concerned to suspicious. Omi began first.

“That box has nothing left, it’s over”, he said. Gesturing to the plain backpack they had, he added, “But we still have that, you know. If you lost anything, you might—”

“Alright, let’s get it over with”, Raimundo said, grabbing the backpack and not paying attention to anything Omi said, no matter how important. “Great, more creepy stuff!”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled out the mini-stick from the backpack and gave the others a look, as if to say ‘ _really?_ ’. Shrugging, Raimundo pulled at the stick until it expanded into a full-length staff.

“ _Huh_.”

“What? Is it yours?”, Kimiko asked, curiously.

Raimundo shook his head and bit back a frown. “No, but this stick has the character for ‘monkey’ drawn on it.”

“That’s weird”, Kimiko said, raising an eyebrow. She stood up and fished for something inside the bag and came up with a random pair of yellow googles. A spiral-shape was drawn on both lenses. “And it’s only getting weirder, apparently.”

A pause. “Where did I see this symbol before?”

“It looks a little like the symbol they found on Huang Dashi’s head”, Omi said. “But I’m not a hundred percent sure, we’ll need to check the photos and their quality isn’t the best anyway.”

“Yeah, probably”, Raimundo agreed. He recognized the symbol too, but not from any research. It was the same symbol he’d seen Jack get tattooed on his shoulder that night they went to the parlor.

Looking at his former friends’ different faces, he almost thought about mentioning that story casually but one look at Clay’s face made him reconsider.

Sharing a story like that only tightened suspicions and he’d be stupid if he didn’t notice the looks the American boy and Kimiko had been giving him all night.

“We also got this”, Clay said, holding a tiny stuffed bunny he’d pulled out of the bag. None of them had seen it before, Jack talked enough about his childhood stuffed bunny Buster for them to easily recognize it.

“There’s something inside this thing, by the way. It feels heavy.”

“Well, rip it open then?”, Omi said, like it was the obvious answer. Even if it was, nothing prepared the boy for the shocked looks he got from the others.

“You want us to rip out Buster?”, Clay asked, uncomfortably.

“Yes, because we just got a clue”, Omi said, face scrunched. He’d known some of the stories featuring the stuffed bunny but he’d understood why any of his old friends or his cousin would be this apprehensive.

Raimundo nodded like he wasn’t convinced but could let it slide, while Kimiko took the bunny from Clay.

Sighing, the girl counted under breath before ripping the stuffed bunny’s head clean off. She raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s already opened it.”

“No shit, Kimiko”, Raimundo said, sarcastically. “Clay just told us something’s inside it—what, did you just think we’re all _deranged_ and just wanted to mutilate a stuffed toy?”

“I didn’t hear him, fuck”, Kimiko said, throwing the boy a glare. Grumbling, she dug her hands into the bunny and pulled out a key. She sighed. “And the Russian doll of fuckery continues.”

Clay scratched his jaw. “What do you think it— _what_?”

Taking his eyes off the bunny and key, the American boy noticed that his former friends, or at least two of them were sharing looks like they’d just stumbled onto an inside joke. Even Omi looked like he was trying to bite back a giggle.

“It’s just”, Kimiko began, chuckling a little. She bit her lower lip and gave Clay a look, one that seemed a little nostalgic. “Remember International Lit in Year Eight, when we were taking that overrated Salinger book and Jack had to do this presentation in the end?”

“Vaguely”, Clay said, crossing his arms. International Lit was never his favorite class so he couldn’t be paid to pay attention. “Why?”

“You’re not getting it”, Raimundo said, a ghost of a smile on his face at the memory. “That presentation, dude—you gotta remember. We stayed up all night in your house and Jack kept saying that one line over and over again, all about how childhood memories hold the key to a lot of stored-up bullshit and stuff?”

_Oh yeah_ , Clay thought, nodding slowly. He’d probably blocked out that night for one reason or the other. “And you think this is some fancy callback to that old joke?”

“It is”, Omi said, nodding eagerly. Finally, something he was old enough to accurately remember. “After you guys all fell asleep, Jack kept practicing with me. He kept forgetting what he wanted to say, so he told me to find some way to remind him.”

“So, you, uh—”

“He eventually connected that line to some random toy and your room’s key, yes.”

“That’s actually pretty genius”, Clay said, with a shrug. _Childhood memories hold the key to a lot of stored-up bullshit_. It did seem like something that would come out of Jack.

Something about it bothered him, though. Didn’t he vaguely hear something like it when Jack came to him by the lockers that time and he’d tuned him out?

Clay had been so adamant about giving Jack a test of his own medicine by only pretending to listen while not listening. He’d focused on everything that he could focus on that wasn’t Jack’s words.

He focused on Jack’s strange hair and the strange jitters that accompanied his every move. Clay had even focused on Jack’s phone screen rather than hearing him.

As the American boy focused his train of thought, Kimiko found a result at the end of hers. It was glaringly obvious. “I think I know what it means. What the key’s for.”

She paused and scanned the boys’ expressions. “It’s for a storage unit.”

“A storage unit?”, Omi asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why would Jack—”

Clay cleared his throat and uncomfortably shifted his stance. He’d come to the same conclusion. _Stored-up bullshit_.

“Sadly, Kimiko’s on to something here. We don’t know anything for sure right now, but last time I saw Jack, _uh_ , he’d been looking up storage units.”

Despite herself now, Kimiko shivered, creeped out. “ _Ugh_ , you still do that extreme-attention-to-detail thing, Sherlock?”

“I wasn’t even interested, I just thought it was weird”, Clay said, defensively. “He’s a Spicer, what’s he got to hide, y’know?”

Raimundo scoffed. _That wasn’t the right question_. “Well, in that case, he’s got a lot to hide. What you wanna know, though, is what he has to hide from his parents.”

Pausing, he sighed. “So, let’s look through all the storage units in town tomorrow, okay? We’ll meet up at Clay’s house around… _fuck_ , whenever you wake up is fine, just text.”

“Yeah, please”, Clay said, deadpanned. “Skip school and invite yourselves to my house. My aunt will love that.”

“Marcia’s going to have to deal with that, then”, Kimiko said, shrugging. Unlike Wuya, she’d never, not once, gotten along with Clay’s guardian. “Next time maybe tell it to someone who cares.”

Scoffing, Clay rolled his eyes and carried the plain backpack off the bench. When no one argued, the American boy grumbled a vague goodbye and left the football court.

Giving the cousins a look, Raimundo vaguely gestured. “Yeah, I’m off. You should leave too or someone’s gonna jump you for being stupid.”

He paused and gave Kimiko a look. He had to try, at least. “I feel like you’ve been wanting to say something to me all night, so do you? About something of mine you have?”

“If you’re asking about the Adderall and stuff”, Kimiko said with a shrug. “I gave it all to that kid, Song, from the small school.”

“For how much?”

“For free.”

_Fucking rich people_ , Raimundo thought. A hundred bills gone like that. He felt better about himself when he thought she’d flushed everything down the drain. “Stupid move. And?”

“And what?”, Kimiko asked, raising an eyebrow. She crossed her arms. “You didn’t give me anything else.”

“Well, maybe you took something else”, he said, nonchalantly. “God knows you like to pick through people’s stuff like you’re thrift shopping.”

With her cousin pretending he didn’t exist in the background, she flipped her old friend off. “Fuck you, I didn’t fucking rob you, okay?”

Pausing, she processed his words. Blocking the memory of her little failed mission, she guiltily saw where the accusation was coming from.

But the fact that there was an accusation at all meant _someone_ else took something from the train car.

“Wait”, Kimiko said, intrigued. “Rai, did someone take something from your place?”

“No”, Raimundo said, automatically lying before thinking. Not that he would have told the truth about the knife right now. “I’m just checking.”

With a small nod to Omi, he turned and almost began to walk away before Kimiko pulled his hand to bring him to a stop. She ignored the way his hand twitched. “Wait, _wait_.”

She took a moment and looked him in the eye. Raimundo tried to avoid looking back at first but eventually relented. When she said nothing still, he silently prompted her with a hand-squeeze.

Kimiko cleared her throat. This probably won’t end well. “Uh, how much is the Adderall and everything else?”

Disappointment soon made itself visible in Raimundo’s eyes. “Kim—”

“ _What_? I’ll pay for it; I had a change of heart”, Kimiko said, waving it off as she dug a credit card out of her pocket. It was a lie—she just remembered that Raimundo lost the cashier job after the arrest. “Fifty? A hundred? Tell me. It’s nothing.”

To that, Raimundo only scoffed. “You really have a way of making everyone around you feel cheap. You know that, girl?”

One silent minute later, when they were alone again, Omi gave his cousin a judgmental stare. “You were being too mean back there.”

“Mean?”, Kimiko said, rolling her eyes. Granted, she was crass, but still that was far from mean. “If anything, that was me being _sweet_.”

“With Raimundo, maybe”, Omi said, snorting. That was doubtful too. “I meant with Clay, back in the house.”

She took a moment before sighing. “We’ve been cousins for years, Omi. You know me; you know how I am.”

A pause. “It’s not like Clay was being Miss Congeniality either!”

“Yes”, Omi said, sighing and allowing her that much leeway. “But we should at least be civil with each other while this lasts. It won’t hurt to be a little nicer to Clay.”

“Actually, it might—”

“Kimiko!”

“I’ll consider it”, Kimiko said, peeved. Noticing her cousin’s small triumphant smile, she nudged him softly. “So you were onto something after all, huh, O?”

Omi beamed even bigger. “See? You should listen to me. Fourteen’s not too bad.”

As they walked further and further from the abandoned football court, Omi felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck again. Shutting his eyes, all he kept thinking off was the strange people he’d been seeing in town recently.

Opening his mouth, Omi attempted to tell Kimiko about that strange man, the one from the police station. Instead, all that came out was already known.

“Thank you, for believing me.”

* * *

As he took his usual spot in the Sanxian noddle shop he’d come to know all too well, Han Yao finally let his calm face fall and give into the Cheshire Cat smile he’d been holding back all the way from the football court.

Today, he was thankful for more than just the blinding darkness. _You’re right, little boy_ , Yao was now thinking. Omi Hui-Badejo had no idea just how right he was. Something much bigger was happening alright.

Everything was exactly the way it should have been all those years ago and even though he’d felt the sliver of a worry about possibly rushing into things, Yao was now certain. He was right and he finally had the answer! There would be no rushing this time and no delays.

_This time_ , Yao thought, repeating the words he’d told the others. _Everything would be done right_. The wait was over. Out of the corner of his eye, Yao saw a short man whose loud entrance interrupted his train of thought.

He turned to fully look at him and saw the short familiar man with dyed red hair and beard quickly approached Xun, behind the counter. The cashier was giving him a pointed look, staring at the two beer cans in the customer’s hands every few seconds.

“Dojo, you know the rules.”

Dojo, the redhead, just raised his arms. “Yes, Xun, but you have no idea how my day was!”

He paused and give Yao, the only other customer in the three-table shop, a look, as if including him in the conversation.

“Here’s some advice”, he said, sighing tiredly. “Never be in the same space with exes who ended things badly. Even if it’s been twenty years. _God_ , the headache!”

A pause. “I’ll have the usual, Xun. Pretty please.”

There were only three tables in the entire shop, with two near the counter, so Dojo had to take his seat on the table right next to Yao, who smiled politely in greeting.

Awkwardly, Dojo smiled back. Now, Yao realized why the other man was so familiar. _Well, long time on see_. Smiling, Yao realized it wouldn’t hurt to talk to an old friend. He’d remember him eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Naija: Nigerian

**Author's Note:**

> -in this story, as in all stories I write, Omi is biracial (Chinese and Nigerian), Raimundo is a Black Brazilian. Kimiko and Raimundo are bi, Clay and Omi are gay.
> 
> -Xiaolin Chronicles gets to have this one little mention, there I said it.
> 
> -Most villains here are regular guys now.
> 
> -This might be an 8-chapter story. Still mostly undecided.


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